The Cross That He Gave Me

by Rosemary DiFlorio
(Mississauga, Ontario, Canada)

Light as a feather its weight will be,

If my will to carry it is strong and free.
It will hurt my arms and bend my back,
But rest will come if no questions I ask.

In red cloth He carried my cross and yours,
With undying love He needed no force.
Pressing His forehead with a crown made of thorn,
Forming beads of blood on His face marred and torn.
We mocked Him and scourged Him and called Him a fake,
But He accepted prolonged agony for yours and my sake.

Now it is my turn to hurt and stay still,
For I know before long we will meet on that Hill.
Then this cross that He gave me will be taken away.
By the Father in Heaven, on my last day.

© All Rights Reserved

tags: Jesus, crucifixion, poem, carry, cross,

Women at Jesus Crucifixion

by Kathy Abrahams
(Australia)

WHOLENESS

Standing in the shadow of the Cross of Jesus,
A group of women,
Shattered, fragmented lives,
Jigsaw puzzle pieces.
Hearts sweep into a furnace of desolation.
'Come to Me, all you who are heavy-laden,
and I will give you rest.'
You surround them, Lord, with a veil of love and protection.
Angels minister with breaths of compassion,
Guiding, helping, healing.
Resilience threads the fabric of their hearts
with strength.
You, oh Lord, bind up the wounds of the broken-hearted with healing balm.
Sun of restoration shines.


Kathy Abrahams – (c) Copyright

tags: jesus poem, women at crucifixion, strength, broken hearted quote

Mary at the death of her son poem

by Rosemary DiFlorio
(Ontario, Canada)

The Body of Christ

Limp and white, He lay in her arms,
With unnumbered wounds from His head to His feet,
His Mother held Him with tears in her eyes,
Resting His head on a pure white sheet.

Her sorrows were greater than forces untold.
As she pressed His body to her Heart of Gold,
Mary wept in torment – she felt the sheet soak,
From blood that dripped from His flesh new-broke.

The crown of thorns was removed from His head,
Jesus' golden hair was now mixed with red.
His face was white, His eyes were closed,
His lips were pressed with blood drops now cold.
Jesus lay still, with death on His face,
But life was now given to the whole human race.

Although Mary knew this as His goal here on earth,
Her Heart beat with pain, from the time of His birth.
Before she gave up His body at last,
She wept with remorse for their time was now passed.

Once more He belonged to His Father again,
Standing beside Him as the Second until the earth's end.

Copyright (c) 2015 Rosemary DiFlorio

tags: mary and jesus, death of her son, pieta, poem, crucifixion, spiritual, poetry

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