How can silence be so deafening?
The discarded wood of the cross creaks gently
as bloody rags flutter in the breeze
The hillside, heaving with humanity just a few hours ago
is now deserted, eerily quiet.
Folk have wandered home,
not the high jinks anticipated
just another political crucifixion
served up as propaganda,
a warning to others who might consider
stirring up dissent.
All that hype of Messiah talk -
just another delusional magician
who couldn't magic his way
out of execution.
The place of the skull is empty
and those who do venture out of the city
hurry past, shuddering at its eeriness,
struck by the silence that hangs
like a visible pall
over the place
where the criminals were killed.
It is a silence charged and pulsating
a silence that feels as though
it's about to burst.
All is not well.
There is something terrible in that silence
As though hell is about to burst through
and only God can prevent it.