Poetry

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Dust on the path

Kicked in his eyes

Tears speaking words

Of glorious right

Pain in every crevice

Of a tattered man

Purpose driven in

The depth of the plan

Bound by offense

He did not commit

Price paid in full

Death He would omit

Cross on the hill

A tree stripped and bare

King of the Jews

Thorns of pain upon His hair

The Place of the Skull

Where evil was killed

Between two prisoners

Righteous blood spilled

Into the Father’s hands

His spirit He did entrust

And breathed His last

Just as He must

On the third day

Ancient prophecy fulfilled

From the darkened grave

Transgression stilled

What was red as crimson

Now the promise of snowy white

What was once stained scarlet

Now draped in the joy of Light

Christ! Christ! The Risen Messiah!

Bringing with Him life for those who tire.

Christ! Christ! The Risen Messiah!

Calling on those covered in mire.

With hands that bear scars

Of burden beyond compare

He comforts; He carries

And calms the turbulent care

To His heart, huddled and close

Whispering words of victory now

Christ, Christ my Risen Messiah

Before you, forgiven, I bow.

And with shaking hands

That Redemption has held

This Daughter weeps for joy

For You are ever more than I beheld!

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