Too holy to be human,
yet clothed in flesh like mine
He cast a sinless shadow
on paths of Palestine.

Too ageless to be mortal,
yet blood and sweat and tears
He shed, as man of sorrows,
throughout His earthbound years.

Too tender to be tainted,
yet all our hate and greed
He claimed as His possession,
for which they made Him bleed.

Too truthful to be doubted,
yet lies are still retold:
“He did not rise on Sunday.”
“He’s in the tomb still cold.”

Eyes
That see
Death around

Ears
That hear
Silent sobs

Lips
That speak
Angry words

Hands
That make
A hard fist

Legs
That form
A planned kick

Hearts
Filled with
Hateful thoughts

We
Can change
With God’s help

Eyes
That shine
From within

Ears
That hear
Joyful sounds

When the grief comes back
I cannot just ignore it,
like I do with some things.
All I can do is try to stay out of its way.

I think of it as a train,
with brakes that don't care
if they stop the loaded cars
full of our dreams and the essence of you
we shared under the same stars.

The captive tracks
were laid out by you long ago,
a virtuoso of some note,
along the path of who you were.

Oh, you ask what I would do.
They haven’t created.
the hell I would walk through

I will be your rock.
Even if I feel like
The last drop of sand
In the hourglass.

Some nights I doubt.
The sun will rise.
Tears became citizens.
In my troubled eyes

I wish I could drink your pain.
Even if it led to my end.
At least you would be okay.

Misery may be around you.
I promise she is not here to stay.
I bought her a ticket to a distant galaxy.