Poetry: Be Thankful For Nothing

On a bright Sunday morning,
Scores of mystery wandered in my head
It was of joy not mourning
I pondered what it could be instead
My knees dropped low as I genuflected
Index performed the sign of the cross
That made my mind reflected
On the one who for me was laid on the cross
No one would believe
For their eyes like Thomas…
My heart felt relieved
For the victory of the man, betrayed by Judas
The mouth only utters
What the heart draws
But my lips only muttered
What my heart saw
As streams of gallery
Distracted my vision
Then appeared the images of the three days mystery
Then I understood the accomplished mission
“It is finished” – these three last words
A sentence that saved man from his prison bond
I wasn’t being thankful for nothing
I knew why I was grateful for everything


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