On Good Friday

My heart's at half-mast;
It's overcast
With all I should have felt,
Should have knelt
Down at His feet.

Could true love die for me?

Was it my heart's voice,
Condemning choice?
Did my pride bruise His heel,
Fix the seal,
Make death complete?

Did Love still die for me?

If Sunday never comes,
Was it still love,
That took my place,
That turned my face
From hate to searing light?

Do I still fight?