Under the harsh noonday sun,
In expectation of the promise
his Father gave him that justice
would persevere and shine like the dawn,
he hung limp on a tree
and murmured but a few words:
“I am thirsty.”
From the fields of toil and the lifeless temple,
In disregard of the promise
their Father gave them that a savior
would appear and suffer under the sun,
they scoffed unconditionally and unceasingly
with many words,
sickeningly reddish-yellow bloated tongues:
Speaking into being a lazy, selfish summer.
So selflessly he spoke the seasons into flux,
How mercifully he fulfilled the Law with
Love; broke the heavy winter and endured
the oppression of summer,
to have the promised spring released between
winter and summer missed,
And behold!, They called salvation's end by a name, “Summer,”
Ignoring the seasons because spring seemed absent.
But as the Son suffered under a long-suffering
Sun, itself repulsed as it looked on with a warm
and gentle glow, the unyielding frost melted and
the seasons broke
Winter, Summer then Spring and, on those
ambiguous days, Autumn; Uncomfortable
lack of law replacing terse lines and
letters, unreadable Love spilling into the
The suffering of summer showing
the Son’s satisfying spring to come,
and the uncomfortable Love loosed
in the heat, bringing forth an unfamiliar yet
welcome warmth in spring.
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