Castles in the Sky (Poetry)

Crucify Him

Crucify Him

I don't write religious poetry.
I do not preach.
I do not pound my Christianity into others
or force-feed them salvation like an unwanted wine.
Religion is soft.
It is subtle.
It is love.
But I'm getting away from myself.
Today was Palm Sunday.
Today we read about Jesus' death.
Today we paraded with palm fronds, singing God's praise.
Toady we read our part of the gospel, and together we chanted
"Crucify Him!"
After the service, the abandoned palm fronds stand,
vigilant and green,
like souls reaching toward Heaven,
like spears piercing the sky.
And I think about the crowd
that met Jesus on that first Palm Sunday,
praising Him as their King and Savior.
How many of them later stood
and shouted with those around them
"Crucify Him!"?
How many? I ask the palm fronds,
And who are they now?
Do they wish Him pain or praise?
The palm fronds remain erect as they answer,
And I cannot tell if they say
"Exalt Him"
or "Crucify Him."