SON OF MAN
God’s wrath; His agony is felt too well.
He hangs in myth. He spills downward a tear.
Where are those heroes? Are the travails forgot?
People turn away, leave him dying here.
Truly, the crying of forsaking swells
Into seven times seven angry fears.
We taunt to keep him moving, soothing not
His soul by worldly ways. All the Earth sneers
To see him hung in pain and private hell.
It scourges him and tortures him. It’s clear.
Our glee has spun a rope of thorny knots.
We meet his claim with games of chance and jeers,
But while we stand and wait to see him die,
Down comes salvation from the darkened sky.
Illustration: Christ by the author, 1958
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