There are a surprising lack of poems about Holy Week specifically– though plenty about redemption and so forth. I wonder why that is? Anyway, here is a less well-known poem by Wilfred Owen. He may have better poems, but I really like this one anyway. What do you think? Aside from setting, how do you think this poem connects with Holy Week?
by Wilfred Owen
Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kiss the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed– my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)