Good Friday for her?

I grew, thickened, became taller and fairer,

My arms were light and freely danced

in the wind.


They thought me beautiful admired me,

My blossoming, fruit and even autumn, 

golden hues.


At night I’d reach out and touch stars,

and feel the life blood rising and filling

me with joy.


I was free to thrust my roots deeper,

to feel the feather touch of snow, and

soak with rain.


She will do they said, she is good for this,

she needs to serve our needs so cut her,

to violate her,


Then they came and lopped off my arms,

Bleeding, dragged me out of the ground

still alive.


They took my freedom and ill used me

and nailed me through my fragile soul,

terrorised me.


Then they brought him who gave me life,

Hammered through his agonising screams, 

replanted me.


I held him gently and felt his tiniest tremors,

spoke softly of our shared journey into death

gave him my love.


Together we looked out at the crowds, and

I received his bloody gore into my grooves

breaking my heart.


I heard every rasping breath, told his passion,

his love for them and for me that brought him

here to die.

Tossed aside, no use, scarred by men I wait

because he whispered as he breathed his last,

I’ll be back.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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