Poem: “Fourteenth Station”

Fourteenth Station
Good Friday

I am here, watching the hole,
Filled with a rock and still
There is danger, stupid anger.
I heard him speak once;
He was very good. Like a god.
Maybe he was a god.
Maybe he was God.
So we killed God and buried him in a hole.
He’s in the earth, dust to dust.
Dirty man, rotting away.
And here I sit and do nothing.
His friends, his followers,
They pray, they hope.
For what?
Maybe this isn’t the end after all.

Matthew B. Rose

Matthew B. Rose received his BA (History and Literature) and MA (Systematic Theology) from Christendom College.  He teaches  middle-schoolers history and English in a large Catholic parish school.  Matthew also runs a Catholic Q & A  blog (quidquidestest.wordpress.com) and a random, more personal blog (http://freakingawesomeblog.blogspot.com).