Stigmata

A Poem by flaneur

Uhm... Merry Christmas?

Dare I share the wounds of Christ,
of whom I have forsaken thrice?

When these lips wrought what was done,
and my dark thoughts eclipsed the sun?

Adorned with rows of crowning thorn,
a crowd adored him with their scorn.

Hammers clanged, panged echoes rang.
Affixed he reigns with his head hanged.

The masses left him to his fate.
I helped the mourners bear his weight.

These tokens rendered in my hands �"
from lifting up a splintered man.

© 2014 flaneur

Author's Note

12 lines, 12 apostles, 12 days of Christmas. I tried to pack some symbolism and double meaning into this poem.

References to the Peter and Judas in all of us (lips that deny, or lips that betray with a kiss). The last stanza is also a double meaning-- tokens as in stigmata, or tokens as in the coins that were paid by mourners to carry away the body of Jesus. Lifting up physically (crucifying) and lifting up spiritually (as a follower). Something was nagging me about the duality of sinners and saints being the same.

I'm very private about my religious beliefs, and I'm not sure what to think of this poem.