It Is Finished

This haunts the world:
 Love crossed out,
 Hammered, thorned,
 As if beauty, or truth,
  Or holiness,
 Could ever be broken,
 Smudged out forever.
 What is finished
 Is evil’s dream
To nail hope down.
 There are plenty of crosses
 Still--
 Tears, pain, sorrow, fear,
 Hearts speared, aching.
 And this, too,
 Wonder of wonders,
 Love.
 The thing that
Never
Dies.

 --Timothy Haut, Deep River, CT