Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Jesus and the cross

I was there as it unraveled,
the foretold event of the killing of the son of man
I saw Judas in his sweaty cloak and dusty sandles
walking towards Jesus whose attention was in demand
at first I thought that he was at home visiting his kinsmen
yet now here he was accompanied closely by the kings men

he walked towards our Jesus, the Lord
and when he kissed him on the cheek, he became cold
he was selling him out yet not for a pot of gold,
but for 30 pieces of gold colored pesals

the robust soldiers, one without an ear
arrested Jesus and within us grew fear
they took Him away from us who called Him dear
an arrest so irreversible and its circumstances unclear.

at the valley of the skull He was pressed down by the weight of His death bed
i closed my eyes a bit when he was stricken with whips and His face turned red
but being human i didnt even think of being the one suffering for Him instead
so i watched with a stricking pain as He maneuvered the paths of golgotha

i cried, but in helping. never tried,
i was dead inside for He was someone with whom i had allied
but when they asked if i knew Him, i lied
'no i dont! i only came to see Him die' what a lie

then came Simon of cyrene,
a guy with the complexion of an African king
 a soldier saw him and forced him to help Jesus, the Jewish king
so he bent forth as the cross was laid upon his back,' now move, let the journey 'begin'. '

Jesus' clothes had ruptured. His skin dressed in whip-wounds
i saw women crying for Him even though they had Him not in their wombs
i lost my faith for a second because my faith was on His way to His last round


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