Good Friday

I lowered my face and cried, there in the dark
The shame was palpable, and long I stood.
My highest shot had somehow missed the mark,
And furthermore, I knew it always would.

Is there no exit from this wretched place?
Must I embrace despair and call it mine?
I know there must be higher and better ways,
But I can't see them. Lord; you know I'm blind.

I stretched for Heaven. He bent down to Earth
In a feat that seemed impossible, yet stood
And, paying a price beyond what I was worth,
He sanctified this day and made it good.

He took my guilt, so say whatever you will.
He took my hand. He leads. I follow still.




jc-a sonnet--4-2-2010