A poem in a series exploring different Atonement Theories.
Friday night and we call it Good,
the Son whose arms pitch high to wield
the cornus tree, the arbor pole, the scepter-cross.
Darkness, Adam’s gift, humanity bent
before the demon throne,
meets with Christ upon the tree.
He brandishes his weapon, Death,
believes (the fool!)
the Son to be an easy match.
And yet the battle, waged upon the hill,
begets a cosmic death,
a victory.
Christ, of crimson red and piercéd rib,
reveals himself in broken corpse
the Conqueror.
He crushes darkness,
black as bile,
beneath his bloody feet,
and Earth, now called a kingdom claimed,
quakes in awe to dwell once more
before its meek, triumphant Lord.
To Marvelous Light 