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The day of betrayal.
Of lies, hate and denial.
It began with evil plot,
Amongst priests, teachers and Iscariot.
Who bonded together in communion,
To take the love from our union.

It was a day of sadness,
Which in the cover of darkness.
We resolved to murder,
Whose crime none could utter.
Yet, we proceeded to slaughter,
The love, like no other.

It was a day of evil.
When we all refused to be civil.
Covered with blind hate.
On a cross He groaned in bad state.
Broken, his flesh was torn.
Yet, we mocked with crown of thorn.

What a day, deemed good?
With guilt written all over our mood?
As we stared at the innocent one.
Tortured, brutalized for fun,
Whose plea for the father to forgive,
Is accusation of wrongdoing that will live.

Is the Friday not bad from gut?
When man murdered his God?
Setting the elements in revolt,
As well as getting down our loads.
for the death isn’t salvation, but the word.
neither are sins washed away, but made.

About Duru Ernest

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