Crucified

Still clinging to the old beliefs
staid and sorry, no relief
knowing no salvation would be his

Yet still he clung
he held on tight
knuckles white and muscles spasming
blood dripping slowly
from his twisted, tortured hands

Unable to relate
to the joy his soul would bring
Knowing only the sorrow
of dying altar-image
carved in wood or stone –
crucified.

He tried to remember
but never quite saw
the story of a life
where children gathered
round a man full of love and compassion;
the miraculous presence of light

Instead he saw it all
as a double exposure
Cross of blood etched o’er the life
Cross of darkness o’er the light
Cross of sorrow o’er the joy…

Perhaps,
if we had not been saved
the painful image might dissolve
that images of life
might live…

? Michaelette ?

Copywrite© 1998 Michaelette L. Romano
All rights reserved
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