Two poems for this most holy of days
Unreported moments from First Century Jerusalem (6)
Detailed for Friday’s Crucifixions
See; a Centurion, a man under orders:
consider his duties, what they might have been.
To drive the prisoners to their vile execution,
whip up anger against them, until it’s obscene.
Prevent any rescue, or forfeit your own life;
rubbish all hints of the prisoners’ good,
defile them, destroy any dignity left them;
stir up the crowd, make them lust after blood.
Ensure crucifixions, without mercy and deadly;
let your men revel in the shedding of blood:
make sure that death is the end of the scumbags:
then -
traumatically realise -
one was – ‘Son of God’.
The Cross of The Creator
Is this the ultimate paradox?
The Co-Creator of the Cosmos,
The Lord of Eternity,
The High King of Heaven,
is bloodied, humiliated, defiled;
then heaved and nailed
onto crossed beams of wood,
whose grain had woven itself
in patterns He had imagined
down the aeons of evolution
of this, His precious planet.
