You might have known; the truth they’d falsify;

an outraged tone sounds weakly credible

they feast on slander most inedible.

“Guilty” lest proven innocent, they cry!

Their only gift, sour grapes upon a sponge

They dance with death an evil bob and weave

no aces in their hand, but up their sleeve

a whole deck; while on the cross God takes the plunge

Christ makes the circle of our pain his square;

(Who said that death could not be turned to life?)

The soul pants, (as a husband longs for wife),

for Golgotha, all truth and love are there.

If you would like to know Christ’s image for the now

It’s buried in this sonnet - secret code. Find how!