Do you mean to say that in the crush

of all that’s happened in the centuries

since - the human growth, the grim histories

all are marked by Him, painted with His brush?

His was a death not notable, (if cruel)

we will admit. And perhaps a noble life

like many others, saints and sinners rife.

Hist’ry’s an ambiguous, uncertain, school.

What gain is salvaged from the obscure past

when heroes die aplenty close to home;

our times, our race, our own, bone of our bone.

Stone monuments insure their memories last

But when fear comes, the end, the desperate cries

Then find me, please, a God who also dies.