martyr

I am penetrated by roughly hewn oak wood1
that splinters my desire for your saving plague;
your arms may hold me during such small deaths2,
but your face is a statue of something vague.

Heat from an unforgiving sun glares
blinding me from the evil audience
that obscenely mutters and mutely stares.

Don't ask why I stare at you with my jesus eyes;
You know your love has been that hateful spear,
I see no halo for you to hold repentantly in your hands
that are covered with the blood of Pontius' fear3.

And will I return and pay careful heed
to follow the same footsteps,
upon which, I, once and again, shall bleed4?

No feedback on whether I should provide commentary to give a peek behind the curtain; so I will do it sporadically as I feel it. I'm sure the few regulars that visit will appreciate it on some level or something. And if they (or you) don't, then feel free to comment as such.

More Christian allegory. In the decade that I have been writing, I have rarely used religious imagery from this side of the fence; usually, it was invoked with sarcasm or belligerence [I was an angry young adult]. This piece is interesting for several reasons. It was a work in progress for a few weeks and sat "finished" for a while on my ipaq, but I didn't want to publish it because I felt that something wasn't consistent with it. The first and second paragraphs seemed contradictory in the original piece because the perspective was confused-- I sometimes lose the sense of whose emotions and the imagery I'm channeling and it will get all mixed up on the paper. As I wrote this post, the answer was immediately apparent and so it's been fixed.

Notes:
1 - crucifixion cross.
2 - small deaths - reference to the French phrase ("la petit mort") for orgasm.
3 - Pontius Pilate, reputed to have "washed his hands", a Pharisean custom for washing away impurity, in the execution of Jesus.
4 - the resurrection.