Bloody Mud



© Jeanne E Webster – All Rights Reserved

Have you ever had wondering days
When you sit and reflect upon things?
Certain thoughts will linger and laze,
Before you know it… take wings.

I wondered about Mary today,
The mother of Jesus, our Lord.
She tarried with intent to stay,
Heart and soul of woeful accord…

That day when they took Jesus, her son.
They mangled him … nailed him fast.
Judas betrayed this holy One
For silver that would never last.

She tarried on that blood-soaked hill,
Weeping… needing to hold her boy.
Discerned his body they did kill
But never would his spirit destroy.

His ravaged flesh taken from the tree;
Mary’s tears flowed with his blood.
She cradled him so lovingly
As the soil churned into red mud.

His corpse was taken to a tomb quite near,
Wrapped up in spices and herbs.
Mary trudged home with Sabbath tears,
A heavy heart greatly disturbed.

Do you think underneath all that dirt,
This hill still preserves hallowed mud…
The evidence of Mary’s hurt—-
Her tears mingled with Jesus’ blood?

God Forsaken

Tree Trunk

 

 

© Jeanne E Webster. All rights reserved
.
Have you ever had “wondering” days
When you sat and reflected upon things?
Unique perceptions linger and laze,
And before you know it, take wings.
.
I was wondering about Mary today,
The mother of Jesus, our Lord,
How she tarried with intent to stay,
Heart and spirit of woeful accord,
.
On that day when they took her son,
Laid him down and nailed him hard
To a rough-hewn tree. It was done;
Thirty pieces of silver the reward.
.
She waited atop that forsaken hill
Weeping, wanting to hold her boy.
She knew that his body they did kill
But his spirit they could not destroy.
.
His ravaged remains lifted off the tree;
Mary’s tears mingled with his blood.
Softly she cradled him ever so lovingly
As the soil turned into a rich red mud.
.
His corpse was taken to a sepulcher near
And wrapped with ointments and spices.
Mary trudged home spewing Sabbath tears,
Her heart crushed into a thousand slices.
.
I wondered today if underneath all the dirt,
That hill still preserves hallowed mud,
Evidence of Mary’s godforsaken hurt:
Her tears mingled with Jesus’ blood.