The Twisted Thread Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The Twisted Thread.

The Roman cross, a cruel device,
For rebels, not the common vice.
Pilate's hand, the soldiers' spear,
Ended Jesus, held so dear.

'King of Jews, ' the sign proclaimed,
A threat to Caesar, Rome's high name.
But stories changed, as years went by,
Shifting blame, beneath the sky.

The Gospel words, a twisted thread,
Of Jewish hands, who sought his head.
Forged in times of fear and strain,
To ease the Church's Roman pain.

'Christ-killers! ' screamed, a hateful lie,
For centuries, beneath the sky.
A cause for pogroms, blood, and fear,
A heavy cross, for Jews to bear.

The Church now speaks, a kinder word,
A truth reclaimed, at last is heard.
Rome's soldiers killed, the truth is plain,
Let hatred cease, let love remain.