A Friend of Friday

Along a sunless dusty road
Towards bleak horizon strode,
When weeping cries of grief
Came from cavern deep beneath.

Descending into catacombs
Where shadows danced on bones,
I tightly clutched a torch of light
'Til I approached a horrid sight.

Small and contorted figure whined,
Howled a cry that raked my spine.
What beast burrowed from the wild?
No, but could this be a child?

Gaunt torso covered in dried mud,
Gaping wounds with oozing blood.
"Dear child, what is your name?"
A long, still silence came.

I turned in fear to run away;
Instead I heard a name, "Friday."

"What happened here, to you?
And such horrors, who could do?"

"You are one who joined," it said,
"The mob who loved me dead."

"Who me? You must be confused.
Such violence I refuse!"

"You mocked and cheered in sin
When whips scourged my skin.
Upon the trail of heavy sorrow
Haunted by yesterday and tomorrow.

All days converge to meet this day
To plague this one Friday.
Darkness now covers this face
Hung on a tree, disgraced."

A pang of guilt invaded me
A flash of distant memory.
Then crumbling walls ached
Beneath a rattling earthquake.

A pile of rocks had trapped
Us both in without a gap.
These rocks now pallbearers,
My cold skin crawled in terror.

Until a light bright as sunrise
At which I shielded my eyes.
The light took form of man,
Stole my breath for a span.

"Who? How? What's happening?"

"I am a friend. I am a king.
I came to save my friend Friday,
For my name is called Sunday."

Sunday offered an open hand;
Yet still I sought to understand.

"Take my hand, make Friday good."

I did and then I understood.

The hand's embrace revealed
The happy child now healed,
Carried to surface, bathed in sun.
Resurrection's work was done.

My guilt began to melt away,
My sinful marks upon Friday,
Taken deep within the grave
So I could rise a new man, saved.

As Sunday smiled and walked with me
I pondered the timeless, cursed tree.
Such weight of sin upon mere wood;
Only this king could make Friday Good.