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A Christmas Special

bullets blood red

chased down,

mangled flesh

lighting the way

as anxious sweat bursts pores pale white


step after step



breaths uneasy flowing



step after step


i heard Jesus walking

stones bedded the Saviour’s feet

while bystanders fired spit in hateful misled scorn

scorn i desired, 

and still do

footprints led the way

as precious blood lined up

for sinners to take heed

burdensome weight carried upon shattered bones

He hung naked
barebacked and exposed
as tendons spilled from man’s frame
crows pecked
scavenging for food amongst Holy ground
His eyes on the sparrow
induced love long-suffering
– i’m called to mirror
a flawed wretch but You still laid it down for us
how did Your tears fall?
a single shred? Coupled pour?
Or agonised groans bawling?
either way
You came
and led the way
forsook glory for relationship
and damnation you accepted
for the wretched few
so for this may I celebrate You
again and again
may i celebrate You

A Christmas Special

baby's hair matted in blood

coated in tissue

wails siren the small barn

causing shepherds and princes to leap alike

there was unity now

through The BLOOD


covenant that sealed me anew,


ridding me of the penalty of death

and eternal separation from glory

thank You,

thank You.

A Christmas Special

jingle bells

jingle bells

and a 100lb plank

A Christmas Special

outside the city gate

the city’s scum adorned pathways like scarecrows

feeding scoffers appetite

appeasing the lie that somehow they lived more righteously than those

forgetting their self-righteousness

deserved death too

perhaps even more

worms and maggots nestled under rotting flesh dead yet still alive

painful pants satisfied

desperate pleading lungs

organs slowly malfunctioning under distress thoughtful words echoed in the air

“man, this is your mother”

“woman, this is your son”

may i never again take for granted

the ease of an exhale.

A Christmas Special

taunts were the anthem of the day

forgetting just days before

they lifted one voice

‘Hosanna, Hosanna!’

the King of kings riding on an unbranded colt

now blood clots surged through His veins

and asphyxiation became an all-consuming terror

He’d probably sing with me one day

but vocal cords too clogged

permitted Him not

just as He orchestrated

why, you ask?

declaring, so we would sing Merry Christmas

to the King;

seated at the right hand of Glory!

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