Passion

Poem By Antoinette Padua

Slouching against a pillar,
Gazing with a throng
Of people praising murder
Laughing kids along.

One lifted me and threw me
Into the bleeding arms
Of someone standing tall and strong,
What could he have done wrong?

I felt his steady arms
Grip my waist and lift me
To his side he drew me
With love I'd never known.

Who can this be I did not want
My arms were rigid, stiff
Rejecting to embrace him
This dirty, ragged shift?

Down he fell onto the ground
Yet shielding me from hurt
I fell onto his plough'ed back
And heard soft groans yet sweet.

Three times he fell beneath
My sins that shed his blood,
And yet he held me tighter still,
His Mother touched my feet.

Trying rude, they pulled me
Threw me to the ground,
On me they stretched his broken flesh
And nailed his hands and feet.

The sun beat down upon his head,
Now I could hold him tall
The lance that pierced his broken heart
Was dipped in cidered gall.

Now I could see that wooden cross
He carried was but me
The blood out-poured so lovingly
He did for love of all.

Taking him down so carefully
He left his blood on me
I too was left with gaping wounds
My dark blood red as he.

They laid him in a borrowed tomb
I was now left alone
Rising victorious in the dark
Like he on Sabbath morn.

Comments about Passion

Beautifull. Taking him down so carefully He left his blood on me yOUR FAITH IS GREAT:
rising victpriou in dark


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