Saturday, 7 April 2012

Easter Poem

Christ’s cries, across the centuries, sent
to wring repentance out of hearts of flint
curtain rending;
blackness sending;
cries of love. Father, forgive them.
Man-and-God, Christ, facing death, cried out
as blood, hot from His still beating heart
dripped down the rough cross
to echo across
ages. My God, my God, why?
Prophecies whispered throughout the World
that the faithful might believe in their God -
and all gods are One -
here crowned in His Son,
who proscribed false prophets. For they know not.
Whiplash words, to crack across deaf ears,
earthquake sounds silence the shattering jeers
of worldly-wise wits,
who pray without prayer. Have you forsaken me?

Hell-harrowing cries from the hilltop hail,
so the scourged wielder of the cleansing flail
to the true Heaven led
His ever-hopeful dead.
And you, this day, shall be with me.
Suffer little children, lest children suffer.
When they starve, what bread will you offer?
Do to them, do to me,
only blind men will see
that they know not what they do.
Father forgive them, though they forsake me,
for my sake, forgive them and make me
the only sacrifice;
let my death suffice
although, and because, it is done.

Ted Millichap
8 April 2012

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