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.
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