Golgotha

We are the mourners at the foot of the hill.

We watch the Roman soldiers gamble in the darkness,

We watch the crosses make windows of the sky.

We see the world kill the good and loving,

And we cry as men build storm clouds,

Lie by lie.

Today is still dark,

And we the mourners

Line up on the bridge

To leap one by one into untold darkness.

See how enthusiastically the bodies fall,

One by one, nailed to crosses of our own now,

Catapulting down and making windows of oblivion.

However, even in that final act,

There is regret, because we have an inkling

As we fall,

That there must be such a thing as hope,

That perhaps,

In a world this dark,

Full of people this devoted and so worth saving,

The empty tomb would not be a lie

Too far-fetched to believe in.