Hanging from a Blood Soaked Tree
Written by Adam M. Snow
One morn as under a great tree I lay,
misery held me in its pain-filled sway.
I dreamt of a life where I wasn't numb,
sleepwalking my way toward the dusk to come.
I felt sweat drops that I thought were rain,
opening my eyes, saw a man hung in pain.
His feet were crossed and His arms stretched wide;
I could see no life in this man. Had He died?
Arose a voice from the blood soaked tree,
“I died for you so that you are free.”
I sat there stunned in my ignorant sleep,
my curiosity teased by a tree that speaks.
I lingered in repose, knowing not what was said;
clinging to the echoing voice in my head-
“I did this for you.”
With eyes of greenish blue,
He wept.
His head was pierced with thorns claw-like;
each hand was nailed by a rusty spike.
He calls to me my name,
I couldn't help, I displayed my shame.
Words arose from his lips,
as His blood still drips.
His voice so dear,
so pure, so clear;
spoken once more-
His voice was dear as it said to me,
“I died for you so that you are free.”
There then rose a light, blinding as the morn;
“Fear not,” said He, “For I am reborn”
“Behold,” said He, “My blood is made pure,
I am not dead, I am dying's cure!”
His voice drew near, and whispered He:
“I died for you so that you are free.”
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