OPEN ARMS: The Cross Story 1

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Walking through the darkest road
Hopping and wobbling through like a wounded toad
Sun-rays piercing his mortal sweaty skin
Saddled with the weight of the roman cross for nothing
Whips slashing the bare skin with blood gushing out
Reaching out was all he did to be grouped among thieves and touts
To a prodigal world the father looks-out at the window hoping
With open arms he jumps out to receive his squandering son sobbing.
To a welcome many He subjects His only begotten to gruesome murder
But to those his son came to, he was despised and rejected for another.
Like the father of the prodigal son the end super-cede the present
Knowing that the glory at the end surpasses the enticing presents.
Swung hammer came fiercely on the nail that punctures the sinless palm
With hands wide open he surrendered to His will with his arm
Side pierced, spits and spite, scornful words and crown of thorns
All he received hoping that at the end he can have us all back on
On the cross he reached out to all
To all many who will heed the call
Fierce murderer, unrepentant thief; to all he still gave a chance
Wicked heart, destructive hand, to all he reached in a glance
With arms open, one reaching to our past and the other to the future
He reached all with his passion, pain, shame, death and redemptive suture.
No clinched fist, locked arms, grinding teeth or I-told-you-so-look
But only open arms to receive all who will be willing to make the book.

Seth Ogungbemi,
April 2011
©sethorunzi
All rights reserved by Seth Ogungbemi

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