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Words written, some in flowery script,
Others, with backhand slant,
A message conveyed, put forth to one,
Some timeless, some elegant.
Notes tacked on frig and walls,
Childhood scribbles of X’s and O’s,
Alphabet letters, treasured by Mom,
That little hands did compose.
With the stroke of a pen, calligraphy,
Granting pursuit of happiness and life,
A document, for “we the people”
Declaring freedom, born in strife.
But there is a greater Writing,
A Message sent from God,
He’s the Word from the Beginning.
Root from dry ground, Jesse’s rod.
The Word from the Beginning
Was Deity and with God.
He became human, was flesh and blood.
This Composition -- holy, unflawed.
His writing, in this human form,
Was not beautiful, but despised,
Bruised and wounded Penmanship,
A Testament revised.
With a stroke of the whip, He wrote in stripes,
With scourging, this Word was penned.
Grace and Truth was stricken by God,
The notice read -- “Condemned”.
There was no shorthand shortcut,
No rough draft practice writing.
Final copy, once for all,
A pleading Word, inviting.
Naked Word, on the cross.
Shame flowed in a flood.
Then the Word from the Beginning,
Wrote my name in blood.
(inspiration from John 1:1 and the Bible)
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