Lifeless – Christ a poet

Nobody can convince me otherwise,
I know what it feels like to be made hole.

Ravaged me from the inside out,
Endless days smeared into unending nights,
Time past, time in the future, all meant nothing.
I only knew of the present,
And that gift was consistently leaking.

I was broken cistern.
But blood and not water poured.

So I know exactly what it feels like to be made whole.

Potter’s will.
That all men be saved and come to the knowledge of He who hangs planets on nothing.
Who hanged on wood for nothing,
Not Glory, not a fee, not to make little toys on a playset of he.

For nothing, but me.
But you.

For when He saw me sprawled like filthy linen on dirty floor.
Shaky hands trampled upon by eager legs.
Reaching, stretching, trying to be good enough.

Trying to meet the mark. Perfection seemed always just.
Within rich but condemned to be poor
Maybe I’ll one day become. Servant.
Looked upon.
Fed by those almighty crumbs.
That was when this son of a gun shut me up, and said I was good enough.

He saw me and then He bled.
Tasting death in my stead.
It was then I realized that He never even saw me
But He looked upon Himself instead.
For all He did was become me,
Sickly held in place by nails.
Dangling lifeless. Dangling.

Lifeless.
Heaving my last breath.
He reached for me.

One sacrifice that thickened the plot.

For when the hem of His garment felt for my hands,
It ceased.

Goats, rams, doves, pigeons.
And every other issue of blood.

You were supposed to have his back,
Be his anti-body in this sinful world,
He broke the tablets of our hearts,
When he left us for you,
You had him looking above this cloud,
This cloud of flaws hovering over humans,
You were his mentor; a star guiding him into this Perfect life,
A view obscured and inverted to our hearts,
But a clear and perfect reflection to him,

He never for once ignored your call,
Remember when he housed you with his sisters; Mary and Martha,
He never for once judged and questioned you,
But when he needed you,
You were far from home,
You could have used one of your tricks,
To race against time and space,
But you didn’t, instead, you chose your work over him,
I guess he was always a second choice,
A means to an end; the path to our hearts,

Four days! He has been dead,
This tomb now clothes his lifeless body,
The passage to the afterlife,
And here you come with your twelve,
Wearing sad faces and tears,
Like a kid who lost his candy,
If only the news of his sickness,
Had quickened your feet,
To behold your friend on his sickbed,
Maybe he would have seen another sunset,
Maybe I would have felt his lips on my forehead,
Maybe his Aunt would embraced his warmth one last time,
Just enough for us to bid him farewell,
But you abandoned him,
You broke your vows,
The communion of promises you both shared with one another,
Sleep on Lazarus,
Your friend, Jesus is here,
To say goodbye to his dear friend,
Whom in sickness, he abandoned!