The Cross
the nails and the wood
drenched in the Lamb’s blood
The Cross
looking to that grisly end
with heavy-hearted anticipation
The trek
from the beating, through the city
hopeful eyes search my heart
The Lamb
bruised and breaking, hurt and weeping
pain fleshed out in unbearable indignity
The faces
lining the crowd
twisted in anguish, wrenched in laughter
The laughter
from shameful throats, ricochets
across the crumbling stone of my hardened heart.
The tears
once shallow and invulnerable
blind to reality, now flow unhindered.
The groans
deep and excruciating
illuminate the mournful guilty.
The Christ
battered and bleeding
dedicated to an ugly people.
My voice
hesitant and trembling
calls out among the laughter.
My hand
deliberate and deformed
penetrates tender flesh with ice cold iron.
The blood
red and rich
sprays from perfection to dirty ground.
The blood
powerful and holy
screams against the unworthy sinners.
The blood
abundant and cleansing
scourges the guilty heart.
The Christ
Risen and holy
Reaches out punctured palm to
My face!
ashamed and crying,
lifted
to visions of light and power.
29 February 2004
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