Of Gentleness

I've read the stories,
dreamed the myths -
Christ was a man of gentleness.
Not warrior, nor money-lender,
nor punishment for endless sinners.
Not scholar or devoted student,
nor rebel of the impudent.
His healing came within a touch of love.

Blaming not, he lived beyond the lies,
not settling for another's alibis.
Never one for fitting in,
he lived, he loved, he led
the few who dared to follow him -
not into a golden sacristy,
nor into sordid make-believe.
His healing was real.

Miracle became his middle name.
Never did he seek a moment's fame.
He only sought to ease the pain
of all the many others.
Magically, he showed them that
they didn't have to just react.
The rules were never carved in stone,
and any path could lead them home.
He loved them, just because he loved.

He never feared the passing of
a day, a night, the feel of love,
for always did love flow through him,
created in his ever active heart.
He knew he couldn't fight them all.
He never gave up and yet refused to
just give in. Dream coming true, and
then the endless fall. Yet still, His
longing for a world of love lives on.

Now nightmare dreams are haunting him.
He knows what has been done and
claimed of Him. Power plays and
greedy minds. Torture, death, and
endless crime. Oh agony, he knows
what men of mind less heart still do.
His suffering upon the cross seemed
nothing next to this.

I've read the stories,
dreamed the myths -
Christ was a man of gentleness,
offering an endless bliss of love.
He dreamt a dream of paradise -
how few, the wise that ever
let him in...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2002, Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .