If Jesus Had Been Hung
Heavy hammers fell pounding, pounding through the night.
The little Island town seemed to quake and shiver at the blows.
Their cruel Intent was known from the youngest to the oldest.
And when the hammer fell silent hearts turned to stone.
No one wanted to remain, but they were captives, too.
They tossed and turned under covers as they waited for morning.
Their anxiety increased as the dressed and formed lines to the court yard.
The town’s people waited and finally he was brought forth,
His captors thinking themselves clever pulling on the rope looped around his neck.
They began to count and released the pull cord and the floor dropped down.
Seven minutes later he was dead. He hung there still when the first star came out.
The silhouette against the midnight blue made a macabre piece of art.
His lovers wept. His captors sneered. And three days later, the miracle.