Poetry: Close

Oh Son of Man, I see in you the fire that once called on me
I take and accept what you willing gave on account of your solid prayer

When you said to break your fingers whole and take what you would not give to me
I spoke and you came running and screaming. I count it all as faith

Have peace and don’t grieve
Cos your suffering I see and it moulds you into my image,
Scarred and bloodied on the Cross of Life

Take from me my Body and Blood
The tree of life, my death, the tree of knowledge, my suffering
You know the deepest darkest depths of human evil
And the brightest lights of love in between

I am here, be still, no retreat, no surrender
Until Death the final enemy is defeated

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