|Picture from Photobucket|
Can You Tell Me?
How do hands construct a crown of thorns without
tearing their own flesh?
Would not gloves, so thick to resist cruel piercing,
make for clumsy work?
How does the mind devise such torment without
piercing its own soul?
Would not such thoughts induce imaginings
so dark as to haunt waking and sleeping?
Yet they were men like you and me,
carrying out Satan’s plan. They did
their bit roles in the age-old drama
light and dark, good and evil,
nor did our adversary fathom
divine plot that would be
© Dorothy Johnson
Holy Week, April
|photo courtesy of Don Blair|
Labels: Good Friday, Poetry Month