Remember the sufferings of Christ, the storms that were weathered… the crown that came from those sufferings which gave new radiance to the faith… All saints give testimony to the truth that without real effort, no one ever wins the crown.
Thomas Becket
(a blooming dogwood / Julie Cook / 2014)
Dogwoods blooming turn skyward,
tinged by the rust of nails.
A thousand tiny crowns lifting to the Heavens
While the echoes of sorrow linger in the wind
Three hours, three days, three cackles of the cock
The lamb is lead to slaughter
A noose tightens as a sponge offers up bitter gall
Life and death begin a precarious slow dance
As every soul hangs in the balance between loss and hope
Arms extend upward bearing fingers stiff with pain as a head falls forward
Blood and water flow into one when the spear pierces the innocent
Assent and decent turn upside down
Limbs now frozen in place while a fierce battle rages
The tomb is sealed as day becomes night
Only mystery remains of the terrible war.
Blinding light reflects terror in bloodshot eyes
Fear lingers in the face of the defeated
As the earth shifts, a heel crushes the head of the snake
Chains fall away along with the discarded shroud
When a single pierced hand finally lifts a golden crown
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