THE WEEPING MOTHER
Her poignant cries pierce the air,
as she looks at Her son stripped almost bare.
He bends in pain as they whip Him with canes.
In anguish He cries, but His cries are in vain.
She watches as they buffet Him with their fists.
To be free of His pain is her fervent wish.
He looks at her with love in His eyes,
and silently whispers “I must die”.
In agony He cries, as they crown Him with thorns.
She tries to touch Him with hands that are worn.
With a reed they cruelly strike Him on the head.
Driving the thorns deeper into His head.
His back is now bent as He carries the cross.
The soldiers look at him without remorse.
Three times He slips and falls on the way.
His cries of pain fill the bleak, somber day.
He’s now helped by a man to carry the cross.
His death to His disciples will be such a loss.
Silently, tears flow down His mother’s cheek,
as she looks at Her son bent and so weak!
Gently, she cradles His face in her arms.
Her life she would give to protect Him from harm.
Towards His death her son slowly goes,
as blood from His body slowly flows.
She moans as they drive nails into His hands and feet.
She stands at the foot of the cross, and silently weeps.
She feels that her heart will surely burst,
when in anguish, He whispers, “I thirst.”
Mockingly, soldiers give Him vinegar to drink.
About His agony and pain they don’t even think.
The skies grumble and are now ominously black.
The soldiers in fear from Her son step back.
The beloved disciple stands by her side.
He tenderly wipes the tears from her eyes.
He cradles her gently in his arms.
This mother he will protect from all harm.
To His father, Her son in anguish cries.
His cries reach His grieving Father on high.
With eyes almost closed He looks at His mother.
This mother, who is unlike any other.
With a cry He offers His spirit on high.
The earth rattles and shakes as He finally dies.
She watches as the soldiers pierce His side.
Blood and water gush from His side.
The soldiers lay His body on the ground.
The fury of heavens on the earth resounds.
His broken body, the mother cradles in her arms.
Her son is now free from all earthly harm.
She looks at His face now at peace,
but the pain in her heart will never cease.
Her son died to atone for our sins,
so that evil in the world would not win.
By Hilda Simmons
In awe of nature’s beautiful landscapes, Hilda Simmons finds nature’s beauty has a calming and inspirational effect on her. Originally from Guyana, formerly British Guiana in South America, Hilda now lives in Lethbridge, AB enjoying her retirement. Her poems touch on love of nature, love of family, loss of loved ones, animals and spirituality. The Poetry Institute of Canada in British Columbia has also published some of her poems.