The hour of crucifixion
When the lights will dim low
Where will I be? Who will I be?
When the reaper comes for his soul
When the reaper comes for my soul
Where will my hope be
When there's no life in the ending?
Surviving_Pawn
A journey rendered, framed, and set
as plaster comic book panels.
Flip through the Way of Sorrows.
Peruse condemnation to sepulchre.
No matter the church, I found and compared
each episode through ten-year-old eyes
that scrutinized every detail.
Digested the mechanics of suffering.
These fourteen were my first gallery.
A restated traffic jam of nudity and frozen
sadism that floated above me as priests spoke
of love, faith and doing unto others.
I recognized violence when I saw it, the cruel
slapstick in the mortification of the flesh.
Thorn in brow, nail in palm, scourge on back.
Gladiatorial voyeurism. Masked in reflection.
crucifixion
a shift
shaking the perspective
of subject and object
At Golgotha, His arms stretched wide,
Our loving Lord was crucified.
No greater love to give a friend
Than a life’s end.
That morning, it was nine AM
When they took nails and pierced His skin.
And on the cross they hung Him high
So He would die.
The people watched as they stood by,
The ones who cried out, “Crucify!”
They jeered and sneered and shook their heads
At all He’d said.
A thief was there at either side.
One mocked Him out of fear and pride.
The other said that he believed,
“Remember me.”
From noon ‘til three the sky grew dark
And people feared within their hearts.
The sun was gone, day disappeared,
The end was near.
“This your mother. This your son.”
He said to John and the Blessed One.
“It is done.” Aloud He cried.
And then He died.
How shall it be that at His death
His breath
Sings a solemn anthem on repeat
So sweet,
As if He is not met with strife
In life.
The truth lies not in nailing knife,
He knows no desperation.
His death is our salvation;
His breath so sweet in life.
They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
We claim we want peace but we seek the next fight
as we keep our guns close to the door.
Convincing ourselves that we stand for what’s right
when the truth is we’re actually just bored.
We say that we want to be free men,
while we ride our past into the ground.
We claim that we run from our demons,
but we really just keep them around.
And we live our lives waiting for the next offense,
needing others to kindle the flame.
We’re a common collective without common sense
like the scarecrow not having a brain.
So, let’s go on pretending we live for the truth
but the truth is we’re living a lie,
for each soul who actually lives for the truth…
we find a way to crucify.
(Poem in honour of the ancient Christian named "Alexamenos" who was mocked with Christ and named in the "Alexamenos graffito" in Rome)
A man who looked up high towards the blood-soaked cross of earthly strife
Lovingly devout to Christ, Christ who became the tree of knowledge and life
Even though he was mocked as a donkey, you saw his white raiment
Xtian who bowed to the lamb who rode on a donkey in a king’s garment
A man who lives with the living, who has died to the dead here present
May blessings be upon you who was reviled and in much torment
Even the lamb was hated, though without him no one could see the divinity
Now your name and devotion are set in stone for eternity
Overturning the mockery crafted to be a thorn crown of blight
Strong in the shouts of mockery, you took up your own cross of plight
Yaldabaoth, the lion, ripped open Adam’s side
Divine life busted out of his bleeding hole
The mother of life flowed out and became his guide
Through this first divorce, death swallowed mankind whole
A roman soldier pierced Jesus’s side
Flaming blood busted out of his bleeding soul
Living waters flowed out with arms open wide
Through this death, life met Adam again to console
centre of both palms
and soles of our feet
are subjected to bliss burns
by searing magnetic heat
it feels like crucifixion
ethereal nails driven through
yet enlivened spine signals
God’s blessings accrue
Armozel kissed his head as the blue lily did in youth
To crown him with nurturing grace with piercing truth
Oroiael kissed his right-hand twitching and twisting in blight
To bring back memories of penetrating light
Daveithai kissed his left-hand that was marked with streams of blood
To give him the staff of understanding and wood
Eleleth kissed and cleaned his nailed feet with bright tears as dew
To mirror wisdom weeping for leaving the blue
This dolorous day, my Lord,
You won't be marching alone, onto
Your crucifixion
For
The entirety of the Christian world,
Is marching on with You because of
Its conviction.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
07 APRIL 2023
-
* I wish all my brothers and sisters in Christ:
Happy Easter! Blessings!
-
Sneaky ears flying day and night
Nosy eyes with conjured wings for flight
A fair young maiden, believing that it's right
Was lured by taint gold to cross the light
I was but a young moth learning how to fly
When the blight of knowledge struck me up and high
Every stool pigeon in promise of a dime
Labored in cahoots to sink the boat in time
Then the younger blood at the luster of dime
Sold his soul to the ghoul like a lurking slime
The poor wandering soul that committed no crime
Was fed to the trolls for an ocean of dime
Then the old maiden, knowing that it was wrong
Wrapped her mouth in silence, not wanting to sing a song
For the rain of glitter was too much to resist
Young Judas and the crows were all gathered to feast
so we scavenge, so we scrabble
we sift through detritus of pathetic little histories,
we search, we yearn,
for more, for something worthwhile,
for something good, epithanitic...
but we fail, we succeed only doing
ourselves the harm we so richly deserve in the hereafter,
we stop, we stare,
transfixed, by rage,
by fire bathing our souls,
this hellish dousing, cleanse, rinse-repeat...
and should some poor soul hum this ditty,
then fulfilled my ambition be...
the thorn, the crucify-tree...
and we rant on, seeing no saving
from the powers, the shadow-cloaked habits of wisdom,
assuring, assuaging,
that good, that divine care,
will save our silly souls...
but time, hard experience
has long since taught us truths bathed in the now,
we laugh, we cry,
given over, in total,
to the reality of this life,
and the fire that cleanses, rinse-repeat...
and should another man sing this song,
then laughing, putrid my soul is free...
the thorn, the crucify-tree...
Passion of Christ laid bare for all to see
while he treads fire, we tread water in this land of the free
dark clouds gather to witness the falling of a King
while we on shaky knees follow closer beneath black turbine skies
to grieve His eminent death...
Persecuted and whipped he sheds all earthly pagan dress
and leaves through the shadows with bile on his breath...
a test of will not of body but of spirit
resting His weight on the spikes driven into His hands
He called out to His Father in heaven,
"Father if it is possible, please let this cup pass by me "
but as the heaven's rumbled Father crumbled
and said " My son, it must be done."
and so He offered one last breath and then, he died.
crucifixion
is coming in
a seasonal belief
of an unfolding
story of separation..
the lenten question
is whether the
belief survives
another crucifixion...
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