on the subject of dying

[kenneth]

Slaughtered lambs were burned on crude altars,

pointing me to moans on Golgotha.

Soldiers scourged this Rabbi lifted up,

bearing wooden beams and human woes.

Stripped before the scoffers’ smirks and stares,

what enables Him to face the shame

permeating through the Father’s wrath?

Spectacles revealed since Genesis

seem to taper under shadows here.

Watching Him suspend between the thieves,

could this be the justice we deserve?

Stained with crimes that He did not commit,

is this justice in its truest form?

Now abandoned, wrenched by jaws of hell,

crying out, “Lama sabachthani,”

dregs are pressed into a guileless mouth,

scorched with everlasting bitterness.

Never have I seen a lovesick Man

crushed beyond the nails and mocking crowds.

God in flesh alone would break His heart,

stretching out His arms for thieves like me.

Lord, will You remember me today

hanging next to perfect love defined?

Copyright 2008. streetlight publications.