Beaten with Bibles
His spirit of stillness pierced by his fall; the sun burned, time stood, a beggar beside his crown. Bloody punctures, crimson streams flowing into rivers of suffering, washed away as the rain spattered from the heavens. This man of great words, bleeding outside forgiveness that he may save them. That he may save us…..
Within my sorrow, the daylight darkened as his pure body no longer walked where my footsteps slowly tread. Father spirit, I am so tired, damned here without you, somehow an empty grave leaves me wanting bitterly still. ….
I search for Him. I find Him. In the skies, in the trees, the bluebird’s song, the face of innocent children he so adored. I shatter before the cross not of what is religious, rather what was crucified, one open door. ….
Such to behold that love he gave. Theologian who washed the feet of peasants and whores, bathed them in his purity, and dried them in his forgiveness. And of they that fled Him, he also laid his forgiveness down. ….
Before his face the hardest heart doth break; down among you, this sky swayer, who dances upon the clouds and speaks the language of the heavens. I give my all to dwell in but an instant of such glory. ….
He calls you from the progress, and gives you hope when only shadows linger. Waste not a moment, as there is no time but that which is kept by the wind and our Father. May His mighty arms hold you tight from the chill. Here on this Earth where we speak with our lips and not with our hands. Oh call out to me, Lord and I will disappear into your spirit. I have heard those who call me beggar with the swords they hide in their mouths. They who are never truly certain, but play the masquerade well…..
Crucified atop a mountain of compassion, I heard His voice asking me if I would shame myself for His sake when I was reborn. For Him I know not shame, nor fear, but fear of His absence. No fear of my grave. I will hang Him round my neck, I will spatter lamb’s blood across my door. I will speak of my love for Him through all of my days without regard of what may be taken from me, knowing that He always gives so much more through faith…..
Resurrected to quench my thirst, so young in His timeless years. The sun was lit by His Father, and he spoke of Jesus coming. ‘He is coming with the rising of the tide, the twinkling of the star, and they all knew it was Him, found him with a meteor and as they gazed upon that holy child, they knew he was soon destined to fall. Burning incense and crafting crowns they gathered beside the messiah. Great words and bleeding hearts, fathoming the forgiveness the north star had lead them to. ….
Beside a bitter-sweet sorrow there lingers darkness. Those who loved Him, those who watched Him fall, lead to madness in the absence of His light. Father spirit, when I tire, will you watch me? Will you keep me; as I lay in His empty tomb where once He shattered possibility. The bishop pinions, is the cross not the way to your side? I feel shame for all religions who attempt to slam his crucified door. ….
Such to behold that love must have been. He is my theologian; and for those who fled Him, I pray forgiveness too. For to those that judge the sinners I ask, “Didn’t he die for all of us?”….
We were all his before we gave ourselves away, and so many of us now belong to the bishop of materialism, forgetting the salvation paid by His tears. I know many men and many men judge, trying to steal from those who believe, and they may laugh, and they may demean, but never bow your heads to them, for you have only one master, and He will never leave you with your head hung in shame, but lifted in His glory…..
His is the last sacrifice, unveiling truth among us.
Oct 6, 2009 12:40 AM