And to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant,
and to the blood of sprinkling,
that speaketh better things than that of Abel.
Hebrews 12:24 KJV
I believe sometimes the poem just needs to speak for itself.
My Father collected all of the legitimate
splinters of wood from the cross,
each individual artifact stained
with the authentic blood of Christ.
And my Father took those splinters
and built a shed in the backyard;
a place for me to run for cover and hide
from the seasonal torrential storms.
And the pounding waters caused the blood
from my Father’s splinters to drip on me, drop on me,
covering me like a fresh coat of paint,
soaking me to the flesh, filling my pores
until they could be filled no further;
until the blood-rain flooded my veins
and deluged the pumping muscle
at the center of my being.
And when the clouds stopped
dispensing and dispersed,
I stepped from the shelter of the shed
gleaming in the warmth of the Sun.
Copyright © 2015 Scott Daniel Massey