Outstretched and nailed upon the planks of pine
The Crucified is dying as a king.
His crown of gold and forthright gaze outshine
The morbid shades His fading life enring.
I cannot meet His eyes and so look down
And fear more what I’ve found than what I’ve lost:
That there’s a secret burden to the crown
Reminding us that victory has a cost.
I stand beneath no longer horrified
By mere remembrance of His ghastly pain,
But more to know that I am classified
By blood unseen that leaves a deeper stain:
The Cross’s shame is not Christ’s final breath,
But my own lack of will to share His death.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, Amethyst Review, Pensive Journal, Forma Journal, and The Society of Classical Poets. He is a certified catechist with the Archdiocese of New York, a Benedictine oblate of St. Mary’s Abbey in Morristown, NJ, and editor of The Catholic Poetry Room.