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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381495" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Killing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">That was the day they killed the Son of God<br>On a squat hill-top by Jerusalem.<br>Zion was bare, her children from their maze<br>Sucked by the dream of curiosity<br>Clean through the gates. The very halt and blind<br>Had somehow got themselves up to the hill.<br>After the ceremonial preparation,<br>The scourging, nailing, nailing against the wood,<br>Erection of the main-trees with their burden,<br>While from the hill rose an orchestral wailing,<br>They were there at last, high up in the soft spring day.<br>We watched the writhings, heard the moanings, saw<br>The three heads turning on their separate axles<br>Like broken wheels left spinning. Round his head<br>Was loosely bound a crown of plaited thorn<br>That hurt at random, stinging temple and brow<br>As the pain swung into its envious circle.<br>In front the wreath was gathered in a knot<br>That as he gazed looked like the last stump left<br>Of a death-wounded deer's great antlers. Some<br>Who came to stare grew silent as they looked,<br>Indignant or sorry. But the hardened old<br>And the hard-hearted young, although at odds<br>From the first morning, cursed him with one curse,<br>Having prayed for a Rabbi or an armed Messiah<br>And found the Son of God. What use to them<br>Was a God or a Son of God? Of what avail<br>For purposes such as theirs? Beside the cross-foot,<br>Alone, four women stood and did not move<br>All day. The sun revolved, the shadows wheeled,<br>The evening fell. His head lay on his breast,<br>But in his breast they watched his heart move on<br>By itself alone, accomplishing its journey.<br>Their taunts grew louder, sharpened by the knowledge<br>That he was walking in the park of death,<br>Far from their rage. Yet all grew stale at last,<br>Spite, curiosity, envy, hate itself.<br>They waited only for death and death was slow<br>And came so quietly they scarce could mark it.<br>They were angry then with death and death's deceit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was a stranger, could not read these people<br>Or this outlandish deity. Did a God<br>Indeed in dying cross my life that day<br>By chance, he on his road and I on mine?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edwin+Muir">Edwin Muir</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381495" data-title="The Killing de Edwin Muir" data-description="That was the day they killed the Son of God
On a squat hill-top by Jerusalem.
Zion was bare, her children from their maze
Sucked by the dream of curiosity
Clean through the gates. The very halt and blind
Had somehow got themselves up to the hill.
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