At last your sacrifice is done,
And I can hold you here, my son.
When you could fit within one arm,
I used to keep you safe from harm.
Those times we shared have long been gone;
You grew up fast, too soon moved on.
But all of that seemed for the best
So humankind could come to rest.
Your body crucified extends
Beyond what duty comprehends.
You, like myself, did what was urged,
Yet ended pierced as well as scourged.
Your suffering is over now,
And I must carry on somehow.
This sonnet in tetrameter couplets is the work of Jane Blanchard of Georgia (USA), who has published four collections with Kelsay Books, most recently In or Out of Season.
The Ekphrastic Review
Find a writer, artist, or poem, etc. by searching here:
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies.Opt Out of Cookies