His back against His heavy, wooden cross
beautiful strands hanging, soaking wet
He’s cold. Bruised flesh, nails piercing through His soul
He thinks of me, and then He gasps for air.
I’ve done some wrong, but now He set me free
I've watched Him die a million times like this
His crowned head tilted downwards to His land
mouth whispering a final plea for high forgiveness
for me. He battled everything
and now He battles thirst
I saw Him through this time and time again
yet every time my smallest doubt or sin
sends spears of excruciating pain
to His ribs, to His spine. For every stray
thought of mine
another thorn is cutting deep into His skin
not giving up, the old world’s caving in
parental tears kiss His open wounds
His shoulders, tired arms and bleeding palms
He never thinks of that. He thinks of me
rejoicing that the blind one gets to see
rain dripping from His chin. The taste of life
the way it’s always been
grey weeping skies are pouring down
rivers of rain. The Fish in pain.
Great wonder of deafening thunder
alas, my very eagerness to break His heart
to kill His love so He could love me anew
no matter how bad I do
at the closing of the year
I always get a fresh start