27 August 2011

The Rich Young Ruler (poem)

Here’s a poem I wrote for class this summer. I hope you like it. : )

(And if you click the picture, it loads the full wallpaper-size for download.)


The Rich Young Ruler

One thing thou lackest:
go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor,
    and thou shalt have treasure in heaven:
  and come,
take up the cross,
and follow me.
And he was sad at that saying, and went away
grieved: for he had
great possessions.
— St. Mark 10:21-22 KJV

1
As the night fell, he arose and walked alone,
wrestling in his heart beneath black clouds,
all the night long,
until the dawn shone upon the sea.

2
The sheep brought a fair price.
The cattle did not.
Neither did the coat off his back.

Many, many silver shekels
clinked into the grimy hand
he had passed daily.

They fell silently into the woolen pouch
of the one who leaned on a crutch
in the streets of Machaerus.

They brought tears to
the wretch draped in rags
at the River Jordan.

3
 His stout young shoulders carried the cross to
the streets of Bethany,
the walls of Jerusalem,
the palace of Ciaphas,
to Antonia,
and even to Calvary.

It was no burden when he carried it
to the mountain where the Lord ascended.

And when his jeweled father
spit on him
and his gilded brother
cast him out,
he carried the cross.

He carried it still, against the Romans,
against insults,
against mockery,
against lashings, like the Lord’s, that sliced flesh to the bone.

He carried the cross
while James was slain by the sword of Herod Agrippa.
He carried the cross
when Peter was crucified, unworthy,
with his head and arms to the earth.
He carried the cross,
alone,
when no new Matthias was called as
the rock.

4
After his skin
had leathered and aged,
his son, his only son,
denied the testimony,
turning to Jupiters of gold.

And his strength failed at last.

As he fell on his knees, tipping
the beam to the ground,
he heard a whisper,
still and small:

Take up the cross.




Want more? Here’s some incredible Messianic artwork of Christ.