Cruciform Friday

I had a waking dream last night.
In that mist between
awake and asleep
conscious and not.

You were there, but not with me
You stood beckoning at the end of a long and narrow street
just out of reach,
and not of this world.
I stood at the other end

You stood, and beckoned
and I stood, hesitating
but then I started to walk.

The street was lined with torches
casting their fiery glow
upon that yellow-brick road
that led me from where I was
to where you stand
infuriatingly patient
infuriatingly good.

There were others on the street
beggars like me
turning hither and yon
some walking
some standing
some engrossed with the little screens we hold in our hands
but on I walked
towards you.

It was a beautiful world, but shrouded in dusk
and lonely.

Save for the torchlight
I would be lost.

And then I looked
and stood transfixed.
My eyes beholding a grisly truth
for my path was lit
not by torches after all
but the burning of martyrs
one after
the other
a grisly
and shocking procession.

Flickering pixels dance and blaze
their acrid smoke
contributing not to clarity.

The fires of someone else’s hell
light my way
to you
and the further I walk
the further you seem
to be.

Turning back is not an option
for the firelight testifies
to those fearless souls
who saw you beckon too.

Your outstretched arms
ready for a warm embrace
You beckon to me
I quicken my pace
those morbid lamps still burnin’.

“Ah” it dawns too slowly
the Christian life leads
to be cruciform.

Your arms are not warmly stretched open wide
they are nailed there
like the hands of the martyrs
to light the way.

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