PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Before we left for Caesarea by

Jerusalem's main gate (first headed north,

then westward to the fragrance of the sea),

I thought that I would once more venture forth

beyond the walls, to that ridge, Calvary,

where Rome sends victims to be crucified.

Some weeks ago, they brought a man to die

there:  they had scourged him well past recognition.

They nailed him to the crossbeam with precision,

and not the least concern for his condition.

When they lifted him up, he did not cry

or scream.  The sun darkened for three long hours;

with neither moon nor stars; until he died.

The earth was shaken by profondest powers.

The upright is now empty, like the tomb

in which they lay him.  But I have heard said

that he came out of it alive, not dead.

The worst of Roman wrath could not consume

him.  But Rome seeks commerce as usual---

founded upon the timely tax collection.

But he who died attained his resurrection:

that is, most certainly, a miracle

(beside which Rome's accomplishments look small;

and Rome's conquests must ultimately stall).

I cannot banish these thoughts from my soul.

Starward

[jlc]