I
Saw Him Bloodied, Twice
Amos Wilson (January 5,
2014)
I
enter the grimy cave,
The
stench assails my nose,
I lean
upon my stave,
And
move into the glow,
Held
by the care-worn man,
O’er
that holy scene,
The
maid, the babe, the feed-stand
Stood
in the straw unclean.
Blood
mixed and saturated,
With
lambs’-filth in the straw,
Held
this Divine incarnated.
Here
lay Love in raw.
His
mother lay like steel,
A
smile bright, but pale,
We
there before him kneel,
His
father – strong and hale –
His
father on this earth,
Low’rs
his light to peer,
At
this, the child’s birth,
And
sheds a grateful tear.
We
knew why He was there,
We
know just who he was.
The
angels in the air,
Had
told it all to us.
Yet
hidden in the back,
The
sheep eat straw, oblivious.
Poor
hosts with little tact,
Ignore
this baby glorious.
Yet to
His sheep would He,
Give
His new life to feed.
Who
were those sheep, were we?
Owned
by the Bread that bleeds?
I saw
Him bloodied, twice,
Last
on a tree so rough.
This
Bread of Life, the Christ,
Served
in a feeding-trough.
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