Stands a pile of rocks, this ancient, pagan altar;
wind-worn, time-worn and stained
with the blood of countless sacrifices:
a monument to the memories of those lives
poured out upon the rocks in futile folly
to atone for the faults and failures of men.
Stands a pile of rocks, this Place of the Skull;
wind-worn, time-worn and stained
by the blood of a single sacrifice:
a monument to the memory of that life,
poured out upon the rocks in redemptive love
to atone for the faults and failures of man.
Stands a pile of rocks, the fragments of my life;
water-born, Spirit-born and washed
in the blood of His sacrifice:
may my life be lived poured out upon the rocks
in living sacrifice to Him who atoned
for the faults and failures of this man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem