All good things once were given us-
immortality, innocence, trust.
And each and every day we’d dance;
Thru forests green we’d hum, and if by chance
We came upon a meadow there
Would rest awhile, then embrace, breathe air.
Until one day- I don’t know why-
We cursed God, wanted more, then from dark sky
Pulled widows, orphans, fists, borders;
Became cowards, bandits, gossips, hoarders.
Kings of pig sties on thrones of rot
We pranced and preened noses high; we thought
Everything we touched turned to gold,
And I guess were right as history told
Our lives like metal turned dead cold.
We traded faith, love, for things we could hold,
And as we piled high wealth and fame
We stored up wrath, war, depression and pain.
Not once but twice the ages passed
As demons and angels silently massed
On hidden borders placed not far
From where we- now mortal- kept sinking far.
And thinly then the veil stretched
Between that second age and the one next.
For our ransom a child was given;
Our dim eyes beheld the son of heaven.
The Warrior, the Prince of Peace;
His glory hidden and our hope released.
We loved him with our stomachs tight
With bread and wine. There were stormy nights
When afraid of ghosts we would cry,
And his voice brought peace that we couldn’t buy.
For this and more we’d make him king!
Then we would finally have everything
We ever dreamed that we deserved.
Or so we thought until we found he’d heard
Our little white lies, and we knew
If left to him our days of fun were through.
He’d no doubt make us feed the poor,
Pull off our fig leaves, and expose our sores.
So we schemed and decided this-
Deception is best given with a kiss.
The immortal one we would slay
Then swiftly, giddily resume our play.
Thirty pieces of silver bought
A tree, some spikes and our freedom, we thought.
On a Friday none will forget
We gathered, rolled the dice, and made the bet.
We beat him down then hung him there-
Who had walked on water now dead in air.
Some fool took the cold corpse away
And we stretched, we relaxed, until Sunday.
Sunday the game was not our own
For while we were gloating heaven had shown
Those down below and up above
It was not just hate that killed him but love.
Love for us that made him willing
To endure contempt, rejection, killing,
Knowing that after hellish trek
He would live to hold Hades by the neck,
And not just in memories live,
But to breathe, laugh, heal, hug, and forgive.
Years and more have passed since that day
When our despair and sins were wiped away.
Torn and broken? Come and be clean!
Washed from past wasted and future obscene:
Fates human hands cannot erase.
If childlike receive adoption, grace.
Continually we try to smudge
The line that was drawn in his royal blood,
Would you still love to have him dead
Instead of seeing love and power wed?
Though some play the hedonist,
And many others with religion miss
On this alone our future remains:
Jesus lives, and will not die again!
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