The Dream Of The Crosses


I had a dream the other night,
I was entering a room,
I stood upon its threshold,
It was quiet as a tomb.

It was large and filled with crosses,
Like the one, on which Christ died;
Some stood alone, erect and tall,
Others stacked or tilted on a side.

They seemed to be in different sizes,
Shorter, taller, broader, too,
Each was decorated,
A few with different hues.

Some crosses, wreathed in garlands,
Others, hand carved in solid Teak,
Some, cast in almost pure gold,
Each cross ... a cross unique.

I looked around, as I stood in awe,
And inhaled a strange perfume,
I saw a sea of crosses,
In this most amazing room.

I had brought my own cross with me,
It was small and unadorned,
Its plainness was wearisome and dull,
It was old and toil-worn.


So I laid it down upon the floor,
Other crosses made me curious,
I spotted one with bold design,
Intriguing and mysterious.

With its promise of adventure,
It was enticing and inviting,
I carried it a mere two steps,
But found it too exciting.


I had to put it back in place,
I became entangled and confused,
Too much for me to handle,
Not right for me to use.

Then I saw a cross with jewels,
Almost too dazzling to see,
Diamonds, rubies, emeralds,
Oh, that's the cross for me.

It smelled of means and money,
And represented countless wealth,
I'd feel so fine, if it were mine,
I picked it up and held it to myself.

But I staggered underneath its load,
It near crushed me with its weight,
No, this cross I could not carry,
It was a burden far too great.


Next, in my dream, I saw a cross,
Of such beauty I'd not known,
I'd never seen so many roses,
So red ... so lush ... full-blown.

Glorious!  Awesome!  It stole my breath,
I rushed to grab it with both hands,
But, in horror, I jumped back,
I bled ... I did not understand.

I did not know beneath those blossoms,
Lurked sharp and piercing thorns;
How could I manage such a cross,
So deceptively adorned?


I wiped the blood from my poor hands,
Tears were misting in my eyes,
Then I spied my cross still on the floor,
Where I had dropped it from my side.

So small ... so unpretentious,
So plain, and dull, and worn,
It was just my size ... a perfect fit,
It was comfortable and warm.

I gently picked it up,
And pressed it to my breast,
This cross was mine ... I knew it well,
And I could bear this cross the best.


I awakened then ... my dream was done,
My day was ready for its start,
The morning sun crept through my window,
Peace and acceptance filled my heart.

~ Virginia (Ginny) Ellis ~
Copyright 2000

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