Joseph of Arimathea – Good Friday

JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA
by Cyril Guerette

“That night was thick with frightening tricks.
I thought I might be sick at the sight of the victim’s body.
Though we ought to fight the wicked Gotti wannabees,
they bought off the mighty bickering potty-mouthed authorities.
These godly Pharisees grin broadly and stare at me,
I begin to carry out the hottest commodity – the sin therapy –
Me!  A man from Arimathea,
My heart starts to beat oddly, like arrhythmia,
It’s no myth he lifted me up,
and the gift of the cup at the last supper was super,
This is just a hiccup in the pericope,
on the path to a fantastic victory; if you get my gist,
Particularly when within my fists is the grist of the Bread of Life,
Dead tonight, but if what he said was right
we’ll be fed by light on Sunday.
And one day this run may become
a monumental moment of  honour,
on our knees at the atonement.
Opponents were fumed as I performed the adornment of perfume,
profuse aromas were prefuse in the tomb,
and although there would be nothing to exhume
when the stone was removed,
I presumed on my own to ensure the fumes loomed.
They were a boon to the power of the flowering bloom
that would soon consume doom.
With two of the women I helped Him assume a costume of linen,
like when the Beginning was clothed in flesh garment.
Even then, robed men from the Orient anointed Him with ointment
and an armament of ornaments;
so at his murder, myrrh and dense frankincense,
make intense fragrances.
His mother’s frank thanks are tense between tears.
I interfered with a fierce:
‘It is you who deserves gratitude
For your son’s piercing Servant attitude
That’s a dude whose side I’m on.’
But I couldn’t hide the despondent insecurity
And it worried me, if not Him, whom would secure me
the correspondent purity?
Surely the preponderance of the populace, turned hurriedly,
yearning horridly for opulence.
Hence, He knew from the start when the herd heard hard words
from the heart they’d depart …
He’d say:  “This is a saving saying:
We must choose to loose either our murky merchandise
or our perky paradise.”
And with that rare advice,
he mounted the cross that spared our lives.
But it has not amounted to a loss –
He’ll be repaired/revived!
He said he would survive,
hope has arrived,
He provided an antidote to the ill of hate.
Still, it’s late, I’m feelin’ faint,
there ain’t nothing left to do but wait …
and watch till He Resuscitates!”

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