Poem: “Sixth Station”


Sixth Station
Good Friday

Come, all you who pass by.
Can you hear them moan and sigh?
Hot tears, bitter tears,
All your fears,
All those years,
Were they a waste?
I will not let it be a waste.
Here, man, if you will not turn back,
Here is a piece of my own slack,
What I should have been doing,
Hopefully, by this penance proving,
You Lord, are not alone.

Matthew B. Rose


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