Poetry

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The upward road to the hangman's tree,
Lined with vile puppets, the enemy brings,
Spitting their taunts on persecutions way.
The Innocent stumbles, His strength near spent,
Beaten and bleeding, He continues onward,
To fulfill the judgment of man.

Sweat from pain, runs stinging through open wounds,
Mingled to pink as it drains down the face of a King,
His life's blood draining out for worthless man,
A price so high, yet his will to make.

Again the Innocent stumbles, pain so great to bear,
Pain of love rejected fills His downcast eyes,
Branding the souls of those who watch.
Taunting soldiers lash out with their whips,
Barbs ripping flesh from a Kings bloody form,
Weakly rising in agony's wake,
To carry on to a greater end.

The Father's love, lends little strength,
His eyes turn from the sight of life's blood dripping,
A sacrifice for an unholy world.

The mile winds upwards, the hill near it's end,
The Innocent walks wearily onward,
His blood, to our sin, a covering,
His cross for life to bare.
The burdened King, in exhaustion falls,
At the foot at the hangman's tree,
His pain so great, He cries not a word,
As the nails of sin drive deep.

The King of Innocence, in pain is raised high,
His naked, beaten, and bloody form laid bare,
An offering of sin to an unworthy world.

Silence falls from the hearts of the condemned,
As His grief over shadows the world,
The cold taunts of the heartless, to weeping,
As the Innocent's love is laid bare.

He came in glory from the Father above,
To seek the weary hearts of the lost,
To show the Father's love to the world,
To redeem the uncaring man.

His life's blood now flowing, a cleansing fountain of love,
Weakly He cries out to the Father,
His eyes now closed from the pain.

His people look on from the distance, hiding in fear,
In shame, servants cry out in anguish,
At the loss of their loving King.
His gift, in truth, we know not the length,
Love unmatched, from the beginning of time,
Life unending, beyond hell's gate.

The torn body hanging, His strength near it's end,
In a voice but a whisper, He breathes His last,
Three words to the world, and heaven above,
It is done, it is done, it is done.

(note on faith)

This is where our faith should be laid, not in the trials that come against us, or their outcome. Not in prayers that seem unanswered, or the blessings we might gain. Faith is not something we can reach out to, or that we can cause to grow over time.

One's faith is not in the actions of our daily lives, but in the belief of an action 2000 years ago. It is not gained or worked for, it is given freely by God, "to each a measure of faith is given."

Faith is not an action, but a belief. Believing and excepting that sacrifice, one that God himself made in our behalf. Our Lord seeks to bless our lives greatly, but His greatest blessing, which is ours for the taking, He gave on the cross long ago, freeing us as a people, that we can reach out to a greater life.

Never stop dreaming of a better day, never stop hoping that tomorrow will bring sunshine. Never, ever, stop believing...

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