The bell tolls.
The congregation settles.
The cello’s mournful groan surfaces.
The violins and flute lament in their depths below,
accentuating the agony.
The bass voices entomb us
in the sorrow.
The sopranos punctuate our grief.
And so begins
our communal requiem.
From Susan Ceely Philips
2 responses to “Good Friday”
So much sorrow. So many miracles. Beautifully written, Susan.
This poem relates the sounds as we reflect on this day etched in thoughts of Christ’s gift of forgiveness. This poem speaks volumes. Thank you Susan.