Veronica (Villanelle)
While I stood in the midst that final day
and held a handkerchief of linen white,
His form moved past me as I knelt to pray.
Daylight was masked by ebony and grey
and yet I kept His movement in my sight,
while I stood in the midst that final day.
His garments, torn and tattered, soiled and frayed,
hung loosely, He appeared devoid of fright,
His form moved past me as I knelt to pray.
Cries of lament were heard; yet, none would say,
He was the Christ, our Savior, and the Light,
while I stood in the midst that final day.
Though obstacles were cast into His way,
He trudged along the path; refused to fight,
His form moved past me as I knelt to pray.
I moved to wipe His brow without delay,
His imprint cast forever, sanguine bright.
While I stood in the midst that final day,
His form moved past me as I knelt to pray.