“A Sword-Pierced Heart”

A Sword-Pierced Heart

My sweet boy, the fruit of my vine,
how could I have known
when I was told a sword would pierce this heart of mine?
In your moments of woe and despair,
I was there.

Your blood, sweat, and tears in a garden on that dark night
reminded me of a time
when I bled and sweat for you beneath the starlight.
It’s a sorrowful mystery
how this became our history.

Your wails at the scourge
echoed a young mother’s wails
when you were yet to emerge.
For love I would willingly suffer,
But to watch you, that’s far tougher.

The King of the Jews, they said,
and they placed a crown
of thorns upon your head.
The first crown you wore was the flesh of my womb,
a baby arriving at an inn with no room.

I remember when I first carried you,
you wrapped your hand around my finger,
my greatest joy and my greatest sorrow too.
As you carry the cross up to a hilly plain,
I long to hold you in my arms again.

You lay naked, except for a piece of cloth,
On a piece of wood
That served as an animal feeding trough.
At Golgotha, you lay naked on a piece of wood
on a Friday they later called Good.

My sweet boy, your blood turned to wine,
how could I have known
when I was told a sword would pierce this heart of mine?
How could I have known as you learned to crawl
that you would be the salvation of us all?