It only took three hours
to undo thirty-three years of good.
And it took three days to restore
all that came before and more.
It was a sin to have Him surrender
a life that was rife with compassion.
But He had given to us great gifts.
He had instilled within us a burning faith,
a chance to believe what we cannot see.
It was He that through His life had given us hope,
and through His dying had showed us His love,
the greatest of these gifts. No greater gift
could a man give than to lay down His life
for His friends. God so loved the world
and we should be grateful for his gifts.

© Walter J. Wojtanik



Forty pieces of silver has it’s allure.
For sure, it could have bought enough
to feed a few and briefly ease their suffering.
But what you were offering was worth so much more.
I see that now. Too late, too late.
You always talked about your Father’s will,
but nobody asked me what I wanted.
I wanted to stay and finish my meal.
I wanted to die in the oldness of my age.
I wanted you to be my Brother throughout.
And what I’ve found out won’t change things.
Instead, we fought. I abandoned you.
I betrayed you. Sold you for some pocket change.
And in the end, you were beaten and broken.
Without words spoken, our eyes met and
every opportunity for a second chance
died, nailed to that tree. But I did not see.
Not then; not now. Blood money leaves
a nasty stain on beloved hearts.
I would have changed if I could,
but my fate was predicated,
and vermin like me are easily convinced.
In the end, we’re all left hanging.
Does forgiveness come at the end of one’s rope?

Walter J. Wojtanik

*I repost this poem every year at this time.


From up here I can see it all,
why can’t they?
It was they that brought me here
to hang and suffer,
to act as their buffer
from here to the here after.
From up here I can see it all.
From up here I can see my friends cower,
they lower their eyes
and despise all who do me harm.
Something warm flows into mine;
blood as a testament,
an unrelenting reminder from my Father,
I search to find her. My Mother,
from up here I can see her,
sad and heart-broken and salvation
is one small token in response.
My “brother” John beside her,
comforting and consoling,
extolling praises on Him who had sent me.
She is his now. Here is your Mother.

From here I can see the soldiers and rabble
gambling over my cloak and robe.
No compassion is theirs, but they are still heirs
to this sacrifice in which they are complicit.
They proffer their rancid vinegar
to quench my thirst. I offer my blood,
the flowing water of eternal love.

From up here I can see the criminals who
suffer my same fate, it is too late for them.
One does not feel remorse and his course is clear.
The other will share a paradise straight from here.
I will assure you he will. And still
my blood will cleanse them both as well.
It is hard to tell who deserved this fate more.

From up here I can see the skies darken.
I hearken to my Father, “Eli, Eli”,
but his will I do. Thunder rumbles and
the rain tumbles from these black clouds.
I cry out loud as I am near death.
They see me as a man hanging from a tree,
but from up here, I can see the big picture.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

**I repost this every year at this time.


…and eventually, love dies.
It closes its eyes, and we despise her demise.
And yet, she remains well in her absence.
The physicality of love can vacate,
and vacillate between desire and need.
But it is our greed that asks her to stay
when the emotional love goes away.
Do not presume you can resume
when love has already left the room.
Revel in the now that she presents you,
before she resents the hell out of you and goes!
If she believes, she’ll never let you leave!
Find your joy through love and if it is lasting,
try casting all your uncertainty away.
Love can die if you let it, but have no fear.
You can always charge the paddles and clear!
Then love could live to love another day!

© Walter J. Wojtanik


a lilting sound,
a song played in the night.
fire crackles, sparks ignite;
stars abound.
this symphony of night

found hidden;

two souls in love.
whispered vows, doves coo
lyrics sung to that tune
captured, harmony that
will seal lips,

the kiss of love.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides PAD Day 3: (Blank) of Love


Begin to live as if your days were enumerated and truncated.
Begin to love as if your life depended on your ability
to open your heart indiscriminately and offer yourself
unconditionally. You surely will not truly live
if you never learn to love. Hearts are fragile,
easily broken – battered, shattered and if it mattered
that much, such displays would come easily.
The love is a chore. You have to work at it.
The more you invest yourself in another, the more
you divest yourself of  life’s burdens, making life easier.
Above all else, we should all keep working on love!
When we begin to really live, it is the beginning of love!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik

Poetic Asides PAD Day 3: (Blank) of Love


Silence is a comforting companion,
a reminder that peace soothes
and love is the cure for
a heart left to languish.

 Even when it seems to be hopeless,
you find a way to embrace
life as the gift it is,
you are not far from
living to the fullest
in the throes of a lifetime love,

 Fondness of heart strengthens
In the absence of it, But above it all
You know that life is in the living,
And love is found in the giving.
For it is the truest of hearts that
never feels abandoned for lack of it

© Walter J Wojtanik

The independent (poem) message:


 A heart left to languish
In the throes of a lifetime love,
never feels abandoned for lack of it

 © Walter J Wojtanik