Friday, April 18, 2014

A Corona of Thorns: Sonnets for the Stations of the Cross

6. Christ Dies on the Cross

He clothes our naked guilt with his last breath
Breathed out to shape a small child’s bedtime prayer.
The breath of life now stopped by breathless death
Commits itself into to the Father’s care.
From Adam’s nostrils God’s gift now withdrawn
That finished Eden’s work and gave us life.
Our bodies nothing now but fleshy brawn,
Our days now nothing but survival’s strife.
The One whose Breath once brooded on the deep
Of chaos’ void and called forth dark’s first light
Now sinks in darkened night and breathless sleep,
That suffocates our souls in airless plight.
They free his corpse. They handle mangled earth.

The breath of God returns now to its birth.

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