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.
—Gabriel Olearnik
Gabriel Olearnik studied medieval history at University College
London. He is currently an attorney and practices corporate law.
