RISEN

Oh! What a weary world of woe

To see a pious man, laid low

A pitiless look, from Godless eyes

Barabbas luck, means His demise

His destiny, to be betrayed

That Judas kiss, a liar made

A King of Kings, in paupers clothes

A Crown of Thorns, His sweet repose

For He’s no friend of mine, he cried

Three times condemned, three times denied

Wash clean the sins, from guiltless hands

A barbaric end, the mob demands

Your truth lies closer to the bone

Your fate is theirs and theirs, alone

They claim you, as their King of Jews

Is this the epitaph, you choose

Her dream, her life, her wondrous joy

Her son, her blood, her little boy

Her pleas for mercy, peal in vain

As blood falls from his face, as rain

Not wanting, of His pains to blur

He drinks not of the Wine and Myrrh

To lay His life down, for mankind

The Heavens weep its Angels blind

A final thrust, centurions spear

The Miracle of Christ is clear

Released from Earthly bonds, His prison

The third day down, the Lord is Risen…

A poem for Easter…

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