Poem 840 – Good Friday Conundrum

Two outstretched arms
Pinned like a butterfly
Collected under glass,
Its beauty cruelly faded.

A rigor mortis shrug
Perpetual question posed;
What does this execution
Mean? And why like this?

Two thousand years on and this question still demands reflection.
(03.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Wim van ‘t Einde on Unsplash

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