Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 1-4-08

He carries His death upon His back,
A cross to bridge the treacherous void;
Keeps His place on Heaven’s track;
His final breath breathes fertile joy;

He makes death His masterpiece,
Humanly rich in colors of red;
Warring on cross, for war to cease;
His flesh is like broken bread;

Hung by His will ‘tween Heaven and earth;
The sight of His Father’s pleasure,
He alone answers our heart’s dearth
With hope of infinite measure;

All these things would be for naught,
If not for God’s devising;
Hope’s alive through what God wrought,
Alive with His Son’s rising.

Searching to and fro for a loyal heart,
He desires to make another masterpiece;
Through death of sin, the grace imparts,
By similar cross, war has ceased.

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