The Void

While Good Friday sees Lent Lunches, and the final services before Easter, the Saturday before Easter day is a void. It is like treading water, with nothing happening, being in limbo, as in a vast echoing void. That's something of what I try to capture in this poem.

The Void
 
Emptiness, bare altars, a sense of loss
Yesterday, Good Friday, words to part
But now, blooded and empty cross
The abyss opening at the heart
 
Lives of quiet despair, lives of fear
A void opening up, a time to fall
When will it end? Time draws near
And silence reigns, no word or call
 
The bitter cold of the tomb today
Freezing winds across the land
The stone heavy, a guarded way
Only memory of the nailed hand
 
In between the dark and the light
This is Holy Saturday, our plight