Tomorrow is Good Friday
The pale blue sky sits on Chelsea Creek
The dead grass of the marsh sleeps
Waiting for winter to finally be over
And Spring to rebirth the green
Within each silent tree
My soul wants it too, for good

Tomorrow is Good Friday
All the years of Winter will be over
The drug abuse and the alcoholism
The lies, the stealing, the promiscuity
The disregard for the lives of others
That I blatantly partook in will die
It will die for good

Tomorrow is Good Friday
When the nails pierce God’s hands
A Father forsakes a son
The earth quakes and the curtain is torn
Not just tomorrow and
Not just yesterday but every day
For me and for you
It is good


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.