by Joe Bisicchia
I was there when we crucified my Lord.
I was there, with all my iniquity and hypocrisy, my gall. I knew not what I was doing, but I know now. And the crow of my death patiently knows. Stands vigil now with me, ever still, ever real.
I was there when we crucified my Lord.
O sometimes it causes me to tremble!
O, I pray, let Love somehow be ever merciful. Let Love let go its red leaves, and yet still be. I look up for forgiveness. The thirsty Tree of Life bares its bones, not one broken.
Sacred Heart, ever open.