Tripling a Cross
i
I dream a cross is dressed in diamonds rich.
It rears too high with spans that glisten gold
that stretch along the sky's chromatic edge
yet crimson rubies shine magenta tones.
Its light is beauteous and brightly burns
against the altar, dressed with diadems rare.
Towards the heavens, twisted bark and branch
as pilgrims richly perfumed air in scent
With candles chanting loud a choral hymn,
the cross had studded jewels so finely wrought.
Yet blood still stains the beams with reddened gouts
and angels fled as heaven called them home
The cross then vanished, blessed in vapours light.
ii
Remember roots that ripped at clay and rock
as I was dragged from woods, dark hewn and cut
Then hauled and halved by criminals with toil
from tortured oaks and beech they hacked and cleaved.
Then soldiers' weary shoulders carried me
and ordered me to bear this criminal,
who groaned and gasped in pain on hardened trees
My branches swirled in shadows, lashing flesh.
The lord now leapt with joy in thorny crowns
and trembling arms did clasp, but steadfast stayed.
I watched the lord as earth did frounce and leer,
then soldiers mocked and I was soaked in blood.
My flesh was pierced with nails of malice hard,
his holy spirit passed as I stood still.
iii
In shade, I hold a simple beaded cross
between my fingers holding firm its frame.
As prayer then fills my silent painful cry
could I now live without its burning light?
Throughout the day, I gently touch its wood
and ask for help to heal a broken life.
The past with endless shame and sins that swell
like turmoil bred from war and needless grief.
But here amid the flux of daily chores,
recall the sacrifice that gilds the years,
eternal hopes replenishing our loss.
This spirit fills the cup at your repast.
As doors now open wide in silent sway,
a shadow walks beside me, holding firm.
Copyright © Brian Duffield | Year Posted 2019
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