Vera Crux

Hail, glory-tree, ship wood of paradise
Who carried the All-King to his high seat
Life returned to life, soul fled
On cold paths to seek the places behind the stars.

Lo, wrath-ward. Your branches bore the weight
Of judgment. And this noble strain budded forth
A fragrant mercy on whose stems
Hell's strength broke in cymbals
Of rotted and discordant steel.

Hail, fruit of Eden. Thy roots speak
Of eternal things. From the blooded soil
A fresh and ageless beauty ventures forth,
Unbinding the ancient serpent's interdict
To mark mankind for endless days
With words of gold and deathlessness.