Christ on the Cross
Like Christ on the cross
You endure and enable
People’s ferocious fantasies of pain
That they are inflicting upon you.
Like rain on the window
You run and weep
Tears of terrible torment
With legs lagging behind your own feet.
Like flowers in winter
You wither, wither away,
And wonder about world’s end,
Wanting to stay a while – longer.
Like an open book
You order dreams to be born,
But dawn won’t break
Before your deeds have been built.
You are Christ on the cross,
But can you be your own salvation?
Their pain has made you suffer,
But you can’t safe yourself
As long as you search for perfection;
For perfect is no story
That plants its seeds and passes on,
Seeking for a painless stay
On a place where paths are short;
Scenes of sorrowless singing
Are scenes within our body
That breathes and breathes
Its personal song, built to stay
While our crown forms a crescent.