And when I’d opened my eyes, I saw in the distance, through the wisps of red smoke, a cross on the desolate hillside, its tiny wooden form protruding from the solitary crag like the hilt of some colossal Excalibur. And I saw, stretched across that terrible crucifix, a bleeding form, chained hand and foot in flesh, the incarnate ‘Lover of mankind,’ (whose omnipotent grasp had taken from heaven’s jealous hearth a censer of fiery coals, and borne the stolen gift—Salvation—to the shivering masses of mankind), condemned by the Almighty to an eternal incarceration in fetters of flesh. And I heard his whimpering cries, as the lacerating finger of heaven broke the yellow skin, and I heard the defiance in his words, as the hand of God ripped open the wound in his side, and plucked away his liver. I closed my eyes, and still the wound bled fiercely in my own bosom, within. It was then that I understood that there could be NO RECONCILIATION between God and man, between the assailant and the assailed.
“The Cross” was published previously published in the 1998 chapbook, “Transitional Pieces” (Plowman Publishing).
More of Eric Martin’s poems can be read in the following web-zines:
ShatterColors Literary Review http://www.shattercolors.com/
The Barefoot Muse http://www.barefootmuse.com/
Contemporary Rhyme http://www.contemporaryrhyme.com/
Concelebratory Shoehorn Review http://www.concelebratory.blogspot.com/