cross walpaperI see His blood-stained brows,

Making a path for the blood flowing from His forehead.

I see His arms stretched across horizontal wood;

With rusty-old nails pierced into such beautiful hands-

Hands that healed the sick, raised the crippled.

Those same hands that themselves hit nails into wood.

 

I see His flesh; wounded and smitten,

His sores crying out for soothing relief

I see His feet stacked upon each other

With a nail that made its path through them both;

Those feet that paved the way to life

Leading others to follow the prints

 

I see the crimson flow from His sides,

That’s redemption’s blood which I swim in,

The tides moving in tandem with the rhythms of grace

I see the tears escaping His swollen eyes

With every drop eroding my sins to nothingness

 

Now, looking into those bruised eyes of His,

I see my reflection on those glassy lens.

I see myself on that cross; stretched across its dimensions.

I see myself crucified with this innocent man.

 

How on earth could I have been crucified with Christ?

Was I like the criminals crucified on either side of Him?

Were accusations of blasphemy rained upon my ears?

Was my face sprinkled with the spit of scorners?

Did my back play host to the lashes from cruel whips?

Did they also pierce my hands with nails?

Or puncture my side with a spear?

 

I think not!

It was Him; it was all Him

The Lamb who became a figure for banter and mockery

The eternal king crowned with thorns laced with treason

It should have been me; I deserved all that and more

It should have been my blood spilled like a gruesome fountain

 

I thank my God,

In identity, I am in Him

In ownership, I am His

In possession He is mine

In devotion, I’m a servant

In relationship, I’m a son

 

So now, I am incapable of living for myself

I have been purchased, bought and owned.

I’m not my own man no more,

I live by faith in the one who gifted me His life,

As such, a gift wrapped with eternal linings,

Sealed with the ribbon of love.

 

If His life force in me were to be cut off,

I’d be a walking corpse, dead in my sins

But no!

I died with Him; I died to my sins

And I am alive by Him; I am alive in Him.

Kenneth Olusanya

K. O. poetry

FAIRYTALE COME TRUE

THE ONE

PAINTING ON THE WALL

For other poems from Kenneth; CLICK HERE

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