Nailed to that tree that gave its fruit
to mortality, cross of crucifixion
wood of loneliness, staff to support
my wandering in a strange land,
the stranger cast out, knowing joy
that lies beyond death, suffering spikes
iron piercing wrists and feet, hands quivering
with the hammer's gruesome agony
until his lungs collapsed, forsaken in his hour
as the heavens turned blind black
and the earth heaved, groaning
from the cruelty of his friends.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
October 24, 2010
Over Costa Rica