Misunderstood, Caught in the cross-fire, Tortured to death. Buried in another's grave. Body missing. Ignoble. Failure. I see your disfigured body. Hardly can I look. Torn, broken. Rent apart. For what? They say for sin - not your own. If I have sinned what is that to you? Should it cause death? My humanity and theirs and theirs, surely not warranting a death penalty - mine nor yours. They signed you with treason - a threat to the ruler - northerner that you were, untrained as you were, popular as you were. They were volatile times. Days of tension, bubbling foment, ready to spill over. To keep the peace what is one more death? Yet, and yet, in your death we face our death and cannot look away. We are mortal. It will end. Surely then, we should live well; live with passion and courage, live with commitment and zeal, live with joy and humour, live in the presence of God, for all that is and all that this life can be. And if we are misunderstood or our lives get caught up in the tension of our time - even to death and failure, we follow you, whose death is the power and the wisdom of God. [The Crucifixion, Barnaba da Modena, National Gallery, London]
It must be easter! Happy easter! Very deep poem.
LikeLike
It is and I am! ๐
LikeLiked by 1 person
All of your poems have been deep and insightful. I enjoy reading them.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks very much ๐
LikeLiked by 1 person