Good Friday

a holy week sonnet

I opened a letter, certified and sealed,
Sent from the hall of some high king,
Which read: “Your true name has been revealed,
And you are heir to the throne — so come and bring

Yourself to the place your Lord has chosen
To meet you, and please do so with all speed.”
What news! And now a wild hope grows in
My chest, as I think of never having needs

again! And so I set about my way,
Expecting soon to see some great palace
Where I should meet him, and drink from a chalice
Made of gold to mark and mind the lovely day.

Instead I came to a tree on a hill, and cried —
For there he hung. “All is yours,” he said — then died.