Here I Was Hung
I've been hanging here motionless,
for nearly two thousand years,
Beckoning thoughts oft notionless,
Rarely understood, often evoking fears.
Crumpled posture, hands out-stretched,
Cross of wood, marble, plastic, or gold,
Painted, drawn, varnished or sketched,
Infinite forms from the modern to the old.
From attended, polished, in gleeming glory,
To hung, forgotten, and collecting dust.
My presence anywhere reminds of a story,
Of humility, greatness, and evoking trust.
From the grandest and most glorious shrine,
To the quaintest, darkest, and unkempt room,
I love all not just those identifying as mine.
My mission is to give hope and be the groom.
Some engage in anticipation, others more sublime,
Still others with praise or prayer benign.
My love for all, is not limited by time.
I am the branches and you are the vine.
Copyright ©
Michael Vacek
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