All but cursed, the men of dust,
From garden’d bliss dejected thrust.
Cast down to blood and tangling thorn,
Flat-faced in mud, bereft, forlorn.
.
Unmoved as ages droned along,
Resigned to sighing pity’s song.
To mouth their sadness with each breath,
In love with self and sin and death.
.
Then glancing back, a glimmering sight,
Through gnarling weeds, a shaft of light.
The tree untouched, of matchless type,
Engorged with life, effulgent, ripe.
.
It lay beyond the thorny wall,
A tantalizing siren’s call.
All wrong reversed, all tears made good,
All hunger filled with holy food.
.
New drive possessed the men of dust,
They set to work with primal thrust.
To have the fruit at any cost,
If failing this then all is lost.
.
And so they pressed against the wall
Of thorns and blades and jagged sprawl.
Their eyes aglow with mad intent,
Their bodies pierced and torn and rent.
.
Their flesh sliced through by razor wire,
Could not abate their one desire.
No hurt could halt their desperate zeal.
“Once through, the tree alone will heal!”
.
Their bodies strewn along the route,
Their hands outstretched to reach the fruit.
Yet none would cross this death-divide,
Their hope lay on the thorny side.
.
Behind them in the other way,
Another tree for sinners lay.
It stood apart and unacquired,
Gnarled and grim and undesired.
.
It did not catch the eye of men,
Who sought a ripeness there and then.
Yet this one pledged a golden yield,
To all who ceased and turned and kneeled.
.
For hanging lone across its form,
The Lord of Life enthroned in scorn,
Was off’ring all a bloodied balm,
With up-raised voice and out-stretched arm.
.
Thus from the midst of cursèd death,
Is raised His call with rasping breath.
“Come every man, leave off your quest
Find life within my piercèd breast.”
.
“He lies!” they shrieked through raging tears,
They scoffed and mocked with angry jeers.“
What life could this cadaver give?
What guarantee that we shall live?”
.
“Just this” He said with pity’s call,
“I’ve come direct from o’er the wall.
All bliss that moves your frenzied glee,
Such fountains first begin in Me.”
.
At once they spluttered daft disdain,
“No wounded Man or tree of pain,
Will be our well or way of life.
We’re free! You pledge us only strife!”
.
“Dear friends!” He pleas, “regard your plight,“
Your freedom bonds you, blinds your sight.
Your wounds for self, for self are loss,
Come lose them in my wounded cross.
.
“Your life is death, My death is gain,
Now trust the word of Paschal slain.
Come hide in Me through darkest night,
Soon heaven’s dawns shine fresh delight.”
.
Just so His promise stands above
All men, inquiring which they love:
To seek the fruit and Him defy,
Or heed Life’s call to “Come and die!”
.
