The Cross to Bare

Dirt covered seed-
Hibernating in wait-
To sprout first stem and leaf-
After such relaxing rain-

Soon it cranes it's neck-
Upward toward the sky-
Unbothered by any pest-
Or the concept of it's life-

Through the seasons pass-
Each ring, a show of growth-
Until finally at last-
A mighty trunk to bestow-

Raising it's canopy-
As if to the heavens themselves-
Til no longer the sky is seen-
A sign it shall be felled-

Mighty and stoic-
The perfect symbol-
To dash hopes of heroics-
And quell the sigil-

Axe made for limbs-
Not to spill out blood-
Escaping from within-
Shall pour soon enough-

In shade the labor starts-
Plowing heavy at it's base-
For in the men of hearts-
To take it's place-

Are the ideologies that must be held-
For this decree, the tree, is overwhelmed-

Hacked away and sanded-
Tools for the heavy handed-
Are dwindled down and fashioned-

What comes from this life-
a stump left blank-
Sawdust in the eyes-
Piercing craftsmanship to planks-

Bound together-
By straps of leather-
Held to by their center-

With three iron rods-
sharpened but crude-
A forming army to look on-
This afternoon-

On the road in which they roam-
Through the towns they rob-
Not of their home-
Blades to meet the mob-

The nails, just like the myth-
Driven, and hammered through-
And with a Judas kiss for Spartacus-
Theology kept by the fool-

Deforestation of the population-
The work of cruci-non-fiction-
Exasperated muscles meet their mission-

6,000 men, stretching for miles-
A punishment for the audacity-
A failure in their trials-
For anyone to see-

Such is the Appian Way-
A road to quell the rebels of their day-
To deafen the voices which they claimed-
Golden voices,
molten choices,
for display-

Slaves made to honor thus-
Embers in uprising-
A tree for the sons of Sparticus-
A seed for dying