Palm Sunday  
Voices bellow loud hosannas; palms wave vibrantly
The gentle humble King rides through the city gate,  
The crowd extolls, not knowing what will come.  

Holy Monday  
He casts the merchants from the temple's court,  
Coins clatter like thunder in the dust,  
A sacred grief ignites within His soul.  

Holy Tuesday  
He teaches truth where traps are slyly laid,  
With kind eyes and a steady, gentle voice,  
He sows the seeds of justice, sharp as blades.  

Spy Wednesday  
He is touched by shadowed, silvered hands,  
One kiss is weighed against the world’s regret,  
The hush that falls before the hammer strikes.  

Maundy Thursday  
He breaks the bread and offers up the cup,  
A basin, towel—He stoops to serve them all,  
The garden waits beneath a sleepless moon.  

Good Friday  
The sky goes black at His forsaken cry,  
The nails resound where silence should have been,  
His cross stands rooted in sacred holy ground.  

Holy Saturday  
The grave is sealed beneath a silent hill,  
No word breaks through the stillness of the dark,  
All heaven holds its breath beneath the weight.  

Easter Sunday  
The earth exhales as angels roll the dawn,  
He rises, bearing everything broken,  
Joy bursts forth—exalt Jesus!  Christ is risen indeed.!