Jesus he is not
A once great man

Lying on a doorstep of benevolence
Looking for a miracle
Finding little sacrifice
Warmed only by thoughts of his past
Resting against his world
Lost in a life that never was

Prayer and forgiveness
His only similarity, other than his beard
Disciples, gone, run far from here
Unable to partake in any further contact
Eating daily, his last supper
Drinking from that same cup
Filled but never brimming
Cheap wine, irrelevant but necessary

Abandoned by all who once believed
Only the brave now come calling
Irregular with visits that last but moments
Feeling uncomfortable inside the gaze of a dropout
Preferring to hide behind their lap of luxury
Limiting contact for fear of embarrassment
Finding many excuses to remain aloof
Monsters that once were true friends

Slumped by the cross at the end of his journey
Nailed to streets that have become so cruel
Asking his Lord for an end to this madness
Receiving little, taking less
Certain that someplace an angel lurks
Ready and willing to end this misery
Staring death in its all out glory
An inevitability that will bring well earned peace

© Alan Zoltie December 06