Holman-Hunt's portrait is a masterpiece:
Jesus has completed a hard day's toil
as a carpenter appearing to celebrate
but there's a far away look in the eyes
and his mother stares in horror at his shadow,
a ghost vision of Jesus on the cross.
His arms are outstretched, the tools on display
references to that historic day.
The circular window acts like a halo
over the head of the Saviour,
parched hills of the Holy Land
sun-kissed in the background.
The crown of thorns is symbolised by
a red head-dress near his feet.
The painting has such an awesome power,
I picture the Lord...at his bleakest hour.
This is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though. Just submit them using the submissions Storybox.