As forlorn widows mourn
soldiers signaled the bystanders
depart the place and Joseph
and his helpers hastened for the ladder
and the pincers wet with rain.
Two men clambered up
the crossbeam and anchored
a rope to hold his body
and commenced to loose the nails
from the wood as the crown of thorns
fell silently to the ground.
The cross shuddered gently
in the pounding repeating
the sounds of the wrathful deed
done hours before.
Soon he was on the ground,
with his mother cradling him,
wiping his face and bloodying her dress.
The echo of “Consummatum est”
Reverberates in the Darkness
and does not end grimly
but sprinted in the dying dusk
following the wailing
along the climbing trail
on to heaven relentless like trumpets
after a victory.
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