Don’t ask me to speak of victory.
Don’t ask of me a song;
don’t demand a shout.
My praise today is quiet.
There is no victory in the violence
I have just witnessed.
He, to whom I gave all I had—
mind, heart, trade, and time—
He, whom I knew was the One,
is gone.
Hung like a thief on a Roman cross,
upon the Hill of Bones.
Peter is gone. The Zebedees are home.
Thomas has gone back to the sea.
Forward is not a way I can see,
yet y’all ask for a song?
A shout of praise from me?
It is Passover, I know.
But I feel like I have lost the Lamb.
My praise today is a question:
What could I have done differently?
The mist clouds my eyes.
Today is Saturday,
the day after the Passover.
Yesterday, I believed in victory,
but in the silence of today—
don’t ask of me a song.
Don’t demand from me a shout.
He didn’t seem to hear
our cries of Hosanna.
And maybe, just maybe...
there is no victory today.
-
Author:
Poeticdiplo (
Offline) - Published: April 4th, 2026 02:19
- Category: Religion
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
Good write P. Seemingly not today, but tomorrow.... yes! Of course, they didn't know that at the time though, those who were there in person.
There is melancholy and sadness in this piece. It carries feelings of defeat in the day. Well written
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