Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Knotted cross

Crosses, crosses everywhere
Not the knotted swing that inspired this poem, but close enough.
The original is presently out of reach, due to heavy rain...
I see them in my sleep
An omnipresent moon to stare
Only edged with attitude and grief

An alienated atheist
Bears His burden brave
No pay-off for her penance
No promise to be saved

A simple swinging rope
Knotted up and down
A bar of driftwood snagged across
Hangs too low to the ground

Crosses, crosses everywhere
I see them in my sleep
Walking, running, singing, swimming
Swinging out of reach.

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