Blood-tub
Simon
MacCulloch
The Earth is a sponge which is soaking in blood;
They have infinite plans to increase it,
And sup to the full as the fat crimson bud
Splits open to foam in a hot sticky flood
When hidden fangs clench to release it.
The Bible names Cain as the infamous first
To redden the soil, but that killing
Was only the outcome of consciousness cursed
To pump up the hate in the heart till it burst
In blood vintage ripe for the swilling.
And Christ on the cross where he blistered and bled,
Another deft twist in the story,
Was bathed in the beauty that martyrdom shed,
A king with a crown made of fangs on his head,
A god who took pain as his glory.
So over the ages the blood seeps and flows
To fill up the cup to the brimming;
A crucified Caesar, a hunter who sows,
Just drops in the ocean, just dew on the rose,
Just meat where the blood-sharks are swimming.
But vampires and sharks and the vermin who feed
On violence likewise are fed on
By those of us who, in response to our need
To see what it’s like when we open and bleed,
Erected the stage that we bled on.
