Grave

Along well worn stones,

Passing empty, silent homes.

Father why pass we here?

Is the teacher of hope coming near?

Smiling he urges me on,

Humming some long forgotten song.

Then, silence overcomes him along the path,

Slipping past the temple, which felt teachers wrath.

Here, here is where he was, answering queries,

Healing the sick among us, denying theories.

Yes, he said, your sins are forgiven,

Angry grew some, walking through these so hate driven.

He’s prophet, say most, he’s so much more you’ll see,

For some time I have known, he is more to me.

Father we shouldn’t here tarry,

these people around us are quite scary.

Yes, I couldn’t more agree,

Are not these the same who where cheering,

For This prophet, this man of Galilee?

This man of peace, who share Gods love are they jeering,

Cursing and from behind doors peering.

Quickly come now my son,

To his side we must now run.

Passing quickly between angry crowds,

None of them noticing my tears and frown.

Rushing to the square,

We stop and see him there.

Days before they laid robes and limbs before him,

Today, casting stones, whips, he’s beaten by them.

Humbled by his appearance,

Angry by his acceptance.

Taking what they give, all the pain,

Tears falling with his blood the stones stain.

Father I cannot understand this sight,

Why they once worshiped now despise,

Who could one hate a healer, I feel anger for them rise.

Turning as he passes, dragging his burden it begins,

Stumbling he falters, falls, struggling under the sin.

You, take up his cross, a soldier shouts,

My father leaps to the mans side, he’s quite stout.

Surprised by the weight he now bears,

He looks at the teacher and stares.

Greater, says the teacher, is this burden you choose,

For this is the one given me, you cannot long it remove.

Father struggles up Golgathas angry hill,

Passing some tearful, others angry, my heart hurts still.

Like rain fall tears, with others standing near.

Watching, astonished as others wait here.

Released from his burden, fathers hair now grey,

Standing he looks at me, for this man we will now pray.

As the mallets pound iron into flesh, we groan,

Of this moment we could not have known.

As his cross slams into the earth,

I recall, fathers words of his birth.

Once a Bethlehem shepherd was he,

An angel guided he and his brothers a baby to see.

Listen, He’s speaking to the criminals sharing his hill,

One denying the other crying, accepting Gods will.

Should we go, leave this place of death, I seek,

Hold still, and listen to him, now he again speaks.

I cannot hear him father, what does he say?

It is finished, he’s given up the day.

Rumbling thunder from a clear sky around,

The earth trembles knocking us to the ground.

Night is coming, we watch him come down,

Following his body to the garden his body bound.

Steal away son, find us some shelter, 

Fathers walks away, I wish to find some answers.

As sabbath approaches we pray and rest,

For after the sabbath, I feel there will be a great test.

A day spent struggling with heart felt questions,

Waiting for when we could return home with this lesson.

As we readied to leave people calling from the streets asked,

Have you heard, the man from Galilee passed?

Yes my father answered, saddened to share.

We stood at his feet, followed to the garden there.

But they exclaimed, he passed from the grave, we’ve seen it too.

Empty is the tomb, nothing but cloth and an empty room.

He is risen my father tuned, he’s beaten the grave.

He is the temple, torn down, rebuilt three in days, I prayed.

He is the Christ, I followed since his birth,

He is the one, who dined on our hearth.

He is the messiah, whose blood our sins bought,

He is risen, let us share what he taught.

W.A.Manning©2017

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