I wrote this poem many years ago (I think around 2004) - the church I was attending tried this really creative approach to Easter...we were challenged to create something to describe some element of the Cross or the resurrection. It could be paintings, photography, sculptures, etc. They were all placed on display a week before Easter sort of like an art gallery... I was so impressed with some people's incredible creative talents.
When I was considering what to create, I thought through several options. I enjoyed writing poetry so I felt compelled to try that. I also loved taking pictures - so I went around town, taking photos at different locations and settings in order to put together something that might fit into a story/poem. The house was an old shack on some property a few miles away from where I lived. It was "condemned" and was getting ready to be torn down. There is a new subdivision there now. Something about that house seemed so sad and lonely. I took some of the wood laying next to the door and made a frame - which I later placed the photographs and the poem inside...it was really neat. The second and third pictures were from the graveyard near downtown Jacksonville. I saw this tombstone of a woman named Elizabeth Buffington who was born in 1840. I wondered about her story and what she was all about -- and then I saw this cross that seemed to tie everything together.... all "ancient" elements....that helped me to create a really interesting story so we could focus on the reason for the Cross.
CONDEMNED
the weathered house would bear those words
no one cared, no one heard
the broken walls were stooped in shame
alone and battered - no pride remained.
no other option could be found
the final sentence – now pronounced.
no appeal, no second chance
just a futile dismal circumstance.
DESPAIR
The well-worn grave would yield no dream
the years between the dates would bring
a portrait of a life cut down.
no outstretched arms, no laughing sounds.
no mother’s smiles to dry the tears
no comfort from imagined fears
an Epitaph upon a stone,
a mother’s memories never known.
transcending sadness through all time
a lonely grave, a telling sign.
HOPE
the Cross would bring an end to pain
for those who felt condemned with blame.
for those ensnared by Satan’s grasp
no more shame, no mocking past.
the Cross would light the darkened path
of those who only knew God’s wrath–
who now could walk with heads held high
because of what that Cross would buy.
God’s love for them, beyond compare
no more condemned – no more despair.
