Poetry

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I see a picture painted of
A kneeling man of prayer
The face of strength is beaten down with tears

Resembling the man I heard
Commands the very wind and
Calms the tempest seas without fear.

I see Him walk on water and
Drive foul spirits out with
Power and divine authority.

But then I see Him heal the sick and
Hear words of compassion as
He gently holds a child on His knee.

Who is this man of sorrow, meek
Crying out with tears of blood?
Without a word He drinks the cup of death.

What holds Him there upon that tree?
Could it be His endless love for
Those of us who daily fail the test?

Never have I seen the one who
Gave that I might live
His spirit freed that dark and tragic day.

Still, I yearn to know Him more
This man who could forgive
Those who drove the nails and walked away.

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