Under the Market Cross - Good Friday

A murky mist now grips my brain.
My thoughts, they reel in mire so chilling;
My eyes see nothing but driving rain;
Despair is such, no hope instilling.

In abject grief, on pillar I lean;
Those I knew, now know me not,
I’m now a part of life’s unclean,
In lonely squalor I exist and rot.

People pass, heads bowed low,
Thoughtless, complacent and unaware
Of those who lie in anguish, tho’
Cold and bloody, in despair.

Declared unclean, hated, abused;
Despised and broken, and rejected I be;
Spat upon, cursed, punched and bruised,
Forsaken by all - no longer free.

I try to forgive, so difficult I know,
Battered and mugged, no life held dear,
Father, I pray, be with me now,*
I’m left to bleed with death so near.

To bring the Word to them I strove;
For them it was I lived and died;
For them it was for truth I drove;
For them it was I cried.

For them I prayed - this I vow.
For them I give my life my all.
Forsake me not!  Hear me now!
In you I trust, hear my call.

Am I forsaken? - my heart-felt cry;
Forgive; they know not what they do;
In you I trust! death defy!
My life in death I offer you………..

****

Early hours in the Market place
At the cross a body bared - 
A corpse, unkempt, with bloody face; 
The crowd, so curious, stood and stared.