I have received a couple of responses to my query about what
the Cross of Christ means to you Random Recipients. One of them I am featuring as my Random Poem (something I've forgotten
to do for a while) for the month. It is called "My Cross and His", by Christy Arnold.
by Christy Arnold
A cushioned path marks the way to scarlet velvet, embossed;
A soft dim light illuminates a streamlined polished cross.
And as I rest and meditate, sweet music through the pipes,
My thoughts trangress to other worlds, to darker shades of
His path was crooked, dusty, long; 'twas trod in sandalled
His rest was where they scourged His back; the rocky 'Skull'
His heavy cross was crude and rough, and all that reflected
Were cold beads of sweat, as they trickled down the Man on
trial that night.
He considered His mission-yet unfulfilled-and the price He
was called to pay.
He looked at the hateful mocking eyes, and He offered His
life that day.
And the cross' splinters pierced His back, but His gentle
They spat on Him, and they cursed and shoved; earth's rebels
He came to save.
And the music of death alone was heard-the hammers and nails
And the rhythm of life, as it flowed from the Man, faded and
faded and died.
MY cross and His had grown worlds apart. The copper and wood
would not blend.
Invasion of Light in the dimness of night so bright I could
And I claimed Him as mine-yes, even His cross: rugged and
crude and rough.
Rejecting the gleam and the glitz, I chose death; the symbol
just wasn't enough.
PS: I am grateful to those who have responded. I think it
would be really cool to receive responses from people whose last name isn't Arnold (although if the other Arnolds wish to
respond, go ahead).
PPS: I do acknowledge Lynne's response. Thanks, Lynne! You
get a secret prize . . .