This morning, Christians all over the world celebrate our most holy of holidays:  Easter Sunday.  This is the day Jesus was found to have conquered death, after rising from the tomb where He’d been placed.  The week leading up to this extraordinary and miraculous event is referred to as “Holy Week.”  Much of what happened in the 7 days prior to Christ’s victory over death was unthinkably horrifying.  Jesus knew when His final days were upon Him, and the manner in which He would die.  Living with that realization alone would be unbearable, wouldn’t it?

Today, let’s write about the end of a hard week.  Some may choose to write about Easter.  Some may choose to write of a hard-fought victory of their own.  Perhaps victory is not on the horizon, as difficulties continue. Come to your own conclusion of what a hard week entails, and write from that inspiration. 

Happy Easter to all!



The week leading up
to the most sacred of our
Christian holidays

looks back on events
saturated with the love
of our Lord Jesus,

impregnated with
prophesies being fulfilled
in His light and life:

Some, miraculous.
Some, endearing.  Some, baffling.
Others, horrific.

A dizzying week.
A hill of execution.
A crucifixion.


I believe that the
road to Golgotha began
in a feeding trough

where a virgin girl
gave birth to a baby boy
who already knew

the way.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

P.S. He is risen, indeed!



The weeks have gone by quickly.
The months have done the same.
The years seemed to flash quicker still.
I’m not sure how much I’ll love retirement, 
I only know that I will!

(c) Walter J wojtanik, 2022

92 thoughts on “PROMPT #382 – THE END OF A HARD WEEK


    The road is finished.
    The week exhausted.

    The peak of strength
    has waned with sunsets.

    Blood, sweat, tears,
    sighs, but without regrets.

    The bones of the weary
    taste the ache of hard knocks.

    The vigor of muscles utterly
    spent—lent to the jobs at hand.

    Yet the road is finished with
    the grace of fresh open windows.

    A gentle gallop of wind saunters,
    teases, tickles tightened skin.

    This is the way for the week to end.
    With open windows and open heart.

    © Benjamin Thomas


    My buddy’s a peach who is loaded with pride
    and is two meters high and three meters wide;
    he loves to sing songs without hitting a note
    and loves to tell everyone just how to vote;
    he claims that one day he’s bound to go drumming
    but, often as not, he tends to go slumming
    and somehow, he says, he’ll garner some cash
    as soon as he finishes scratching his rash.
    He frustrates us all, most all of the time;
    perhaps, most of all, when he’s thinking in rhyme.
    He’s confusing as hell, and hence I’ve construed it:
    there’s lotsa “I gotta” and not much “I dood it,”
    notably in this last week, in particular,
    when he told everybody he’d build a funicular.
    I suspect, when he dies, he still won’t be finished,
    for the memories left will be nary diminished.

  3. THE END

    The end is only the beginning.
    It gives way to new vistas, new terrain,
    new growth, ongoing rain.

    The end is only the beginning.
    It’s the onset of a different song,
    with brand new stanzas to sing along.

    The end is just the beginning.
    The best is laid to rest in the grave—
    the remainder of fine linen is left in the cave.

    © Benjamin Thomas

  4. Walt, given all the joy that’s come through in your work over the years, retirement ought to be a dilly. Good for you.

  5. Pingback: Miracles do happen! – I Believe, BECAUSE –

  6. Not so hard

    It is hard to believe
    in the good when
    the news point elsewhere,
    to a world of war, violence,
    and not enough care.
    But really, I woke up
    mostly feeling okay,
    no bombs dropping from above,
    it could be a fine day,
    might as well choose love.
    The only monster that I really fear
    is sometimes the one I see in the mirror,
    when I’m trying to control life,
    eliminate all fear, worry, strife,
    arrange the future, oh so serious,
    have control (ha!) isn’t that curious.
    It would be laughable,
    when I can’t wait,
    feel the need to anticipate.
    The only result I can control
    is really nothing, nothing at all,
    as hard as I try to see what will be,
    the gods just look down and laugh at me.
    I can only cherish my life,
    expect goodness every day,
    Make the most of it all,
    whatever comes my way.
    There’s no place nor time
    as far as I can see,
    peace power cannot transform,
    and peace begins with me.

    • Hmmmm…. lots of wisdom here, and one line in particular resonates for me:

      WHY NOT?

      I could spend all my time full of envy and pouting
      or while away the hours with some fuming and shouting,
      but that causes headaches; what’s the sense of such spouting?
      I might just as well choose love.

      The world’s seen enough of resentment and hating;
      had a big bellyful of begrudging and baiting;
      when you add it all up, it’s a whole lot of grating.
      We might just as well choose love.

      Thanks for the inspiration. If I had the skill, I might try to make a song of the poem that sprang from it.

  7. This goes with PAD prompt “mad”. Happy Easter everyone!

    Mad About You

    At the end of a hard week
    You comfort me
    and see me through
    I’m mad, mad, mad,
    mad about You.

  8. Unfinished Conversations

    The lawn outside
    my window
    tinted green and brown
    still waits to warmer weather.
    The wind blows cold
    like notices received
    from Unemployment
    in the middle of the week.
    They tell me
    I must look for work
    and complete
    four applications
    each week.
    although I’m
    just on lay-off,
    and I will return at a later date.
    The next day, the car must be fixed
    and an unopened bill
    sits on the table,
    Frustrations are cast
    much as the times
    when I was young,
    the work is still never done.
    Even at my age I must ask
    who I am
    when planning the day.
    And I remember
    my father pulling
    dandelions as weeds
    when deep inside
    I knew they were flowers,
    and my aunt said
    they were good for wine.
    Memories stir
    long after they’re gone.
    And Saturday passes
    like unfinished conversations
    with an old love of mine
    as she sits at the counter
    of the restaurant
    where she works.
    And today I hope
    to find within me
    the poem once lost
    in haste.
    Such joy is found
    when I step out to my car
    where a rabbit waits.

  9. I posted a poem on Wednesday that I changed a bit, and it goes with the poem that I wrote today… The women I listed below are some of the 41 women I did my study on Lent this year.

    The followers

    Mary wife of Clopas,
    Joanna, Salome,
    Mary Magdalene,
    John the son of Zebedee,
    And his mother Mary
    Had been there following
    Him carry the cross…
    Saw Him trip and fall.

    They loved him,
    Salome watched her son John
    And knew his heart was breaking.
    Mary, wife of Clopas
    Watched her nephew struggle
    And held his mother’s hand
    As they followed up that hill
    To where he would die.

    Mary Magdalene
    Would not leave the side
    Of Him who relieved her
    Of the prison the demons
    Had trapped her, and
    She loved Him for he freed her,
    And she followed him,
    And as they stripped him of his clothes,
    And laid him on the rough lumber
    Of that cross.
    She wept.

    Remembered the death
    Of His cousin,
    John the Baptist, and
    She knew the grief
    That death had hurt Him,
    For his cousin was good man.
    As she stood there hearing the hammer hit the nails
    And not one cry did he make.
    She prayed it would be over soon.

    The sky grew dark,
    And the curtain in the temple
    Was ripped
    Exposing the Holy of Holies.
    And the sun was not to be seen.
    The earth began to tremble,
    And then the earth shook
    Enough to shatter it
    From the core up towards that cross
    And still those followers stood and waited.

    John the son of Zebedee
    Looked upon his friend,
    The Messiah, and wondered
    What would happen to them…
    He just knew he could not leave Jesus
    In these his last hours.
    He heard him call out
    Abba, why have you forsaken me?
    He remembered the Psalms
    And how it described
    What was happening before him,
    And he wondered how
    Did King David know this?
    And he thought…
    Ah yes, God would have guided his hand.
    Jesus told him to care for his mother,
    And then said to forgive us.
    John felt his tears,
    And just as he thought
    He could take no more…
    He heard Jesus say,
    “It is finished.”

    And he died.
    His last breath
    Came quicker than
    The two thieves for their bones
    Were broken, and his wasn’t.
    They rushed his body
    Into a grave
    Given by a man named Joseph.

    They felt it was over…
    It was finished…
    But it wasn’t…
    He arose,
    And lived again.
    That joy was immeasurable.
    That peace that God was with them.
    That love was boundless
    And will never be finished.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 12, 2022 revised April 17, 2022

      • my study of the women of the Bible was very interesting…I was going to start with Eve and go forward, but I read this book “Reading While Black” by Esau McCulley and decided to start with Elizabeth… they follow no real pattern> It was a wonderful journey..

  10. The hardest week…

    The week began
    With glorious celebrations,
    And singing, “Hosanna”
    They had celebrated “Passover”
    In a room together,
    He had washed their feet, and
    They were humbled.
    One who had wandered
    Would go to betray him
    But for now, he told them
    The wine was his blood
    Spilt for them,
    And the bread was his body
    Broken for them.

    No truer words ever spoken.
    They just didn’t know it.
    As he prayed later;
    They fell asleep.
    His heart broke,
    As he faced His hardest hours.
    He was betrayed, and another
    Would deny him,
    But in the end their hearts would break…

    It was their hardest week.
    They had given up their jobs;
    They had left friends and family;
    Some wondered
    How they would pick up their lives.
    Some feared
    How they would be the brunt of jokes.
    Only one regretted their decision,
    And he took his own life.

    But as morning broke,
    And the women came to tell them
    He had defeated death.
    He had come to free them,
    And no matter what those
    People would say…
    Never had been the start of a week
    That had more joy.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 17, 2022

  11. Hard Choices

    Hard decisions
    make a week end hard;
    a life ends hard perhaps
    after a loving
    ‘yes, I will’
    is answered to a Father’s love.

    Decisions make
    a difference in the end.

    I wrote once,
    in a passioned poem of love,
    “a promise never made is hard to keep.”

    Indecisions, too,
    make things end harder,
    I believe.

    At least the endings that we choose
    are ours.

    (C) Damon Dean, 2022

  12. My nephew Daniel is 46 years old. I have known since Christmas eve day that the cancer he has is so rare that there is no successful treatment for it. He is like a son to me…. He has begun Radiation treatment…

    One week, many weeks

    It began with hope
    That one so small
    Could have a normal life…
    But ended before that first day was out
    Falling to my knees in despair.

    I raged at God, and He listened.
    When I got still, He whispered,
    “There were those who didn’t listen,
    And now we must pick up the pieces.”
    It was when I knew
    God sends those to aid us,
    But sometimes they ignore
    The urging…

    It was in those thirteen months
    That followed that week,
    I faced three deaths,
    But before I face them…
    I realized a truth
    We all ignore.

    Each time we say hello
    To someone at our first meeting…
    There is a goodbye written
    For some it just a few moments,
    But for others it is a lifetime
    Before it is said.
    Two that died
    In those thirteen months
    Were my brothers.
    I remembered the words
    Said to my soul, and
    Understood that their goodbyes
    Came much too soon.

    I needed that to remind me…
    Life is a gift…
    Each day is a gift.
    I talked to man this morning,
    I told this to when he was young.
    He said he remembered those words
    That in every hello is an unwritten goodbye.
    I tried not to cry for he was telling me
    That whatever comes
    He trusts God will heal him
    Either his body now or with death.
    While we talked under the cathedral of trees…
    In one of my holy places…
    Where I saw that the storms that ripped
    The forest was only visible
    In the healed trees,
    I tried not to say
    What my heart wanted to say
    Was that I should be the one
    Saying goodbye
    But I know my purpose is not done.

    As I look across my lifeline,
    I see the joy in the Hellos
    And the sorrows in the Goodbyes…
    Many weeks were hard
    And broke me…
    But at my core
    I know
    They also made me,
    And do not regret
    Any of the hellos
    (Well, there are a few),
    And after the grief
    I have not regretted the goodbyes.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 17, 2022

  13. A Retiree’s Week

    Monday was busy
    Tuesday was too
    Wednesday gave me time
    To work the Honey-dos
    Thursday was slower
    Friday was extreme
    Saturday we teamed up
    And cleaned the list clean
    Sunday we rested
    ‘Til the grandkids arrived
    I love this retirement
    And thank God I’m alive

  14. The week on call
    (Lament of the Child Protective Service Worker)

    Given the bag
    With the camera,
    Paperwork like safety plans,
    And add a change of clothes
    In case it is a Meth House.
    No one wants to be stripped down
    By hazmat and whatever you wore
    Had to be trashed.

    Seven days until
    It gets given
    To the next one on the list.
    First case is simple,
    Mother left child with babysitter,
    And babysitter left the child.
    A safety plan is signed,
    And on Monday will be out to check

    Looking at the calendar.
    Dang, full moon in two days,
    And anything can happen.

    And it did,
    One teen thrown out of her house,
    Calls and asks for help.
    She is taken into emergency foster care.
    Next call a child is burned,
    And parents arrested,
    Contact all the people who need to know.
    Child being airlifted
    To the closest burn unit.
    They take verbal approval
    From someone in charge.
    Father overdosed, and
    Toddler wandered into the night.
    More arrests, and child placed,
    And will the morning come

    Sleep is hard to come
    Because you are waiting for the phone
    To scream you awake.
    It becomes your life
    Staying up late
    Never ends.

    The next day
    You have phone calls to make,
    And paperwork to be done
    Plus gathering all that need
    To be in staffings
    For children removed.

    Friday morning
    You hand over the bag,
    Glad it will be a few weeks
    Before it is yours again.

    The ones that stay are dedicated
    And want children to be safe.
    There is something to be said
    For the constant drama
    And how this one former worker
    Only wants life to bring her peace
    And stillness… and love….

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 18, 2022

  15. Holy

    Three times
    we drove
    to a distant town
    four counties away
    backroads and highways

    to a small person
    needing us
    so his Momma could work
    in the office

    necessitating early departures
    navigating rain high wind
    billowing cloud
    finally sun

    lunches potty training
    napping reading playing
    cuddling how better to spend
    Holy Week
    than in caring
    others’ wood

    as the week ended
    and fatigue crept in
    it all seemed


    The bell in the dell sounds a knell
    for a fellow whose life rent with strife
    was yet rife with the slow, measured flow
    of the glow from a soul calm and whole.

    My friend to the end, he could mend
    a heart, send a word, feed a bird,
    be a nerd. I am sad, yet am glad
    that I had the sweet grace of his face.

  17. Draped in Sadness

    Sadness lingers,
    drapes over me
    like a black cape.
    No escape from
    items around my
    house that belonged
    to my precious dog,
    Marion. My other
    dog continues to
    to look in, and smell
    every corner of yard
    and house. Now he is
    in the hospital with
    serious health issues.
    I feel my life shattering
    around me like broken

  18. Pingback: stars ~ a haiku series – Mindfills

  19. Here’s mine. Thank you poetic bloomings

    stars ~ a haiku series

    stars zoom across sky
    shooting for cosmic movie
    ~ other side of town

    black night to my square
    sign flashing on things to do
    ~ hold on to your breath

    Saturday morning
    dream-filled eyes not open yet
    ~ dewdrops for breakfast

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