Passion

I see your face

in the gathering storm.

Twisting and bent

in the rising wind

my soul groans

under the weight

of holy pain,

for bloody are my hands!

Thorns, like sin, pierce

my furrowed  brow,

and my tears fill

the guilty world.

O forgive me!

I did not see you dying

‘til I cried

scourged with the lash

of my own stinging lies.

(22 June 2014)