Christians a foreign race
to the cynic  or evolved man;
their gentle peace  their open joy
how can one understand,

how they can throw their lives away  for some enchanting story that someday someone somewhere out there
will call them home in glory?

as whimsical as it might seem
sometimes i can’t but help,
to bite my lip  and dare to dream
that someone might love
myself,

enough to have nails
tear through His wrists
and mockers to spit and scorn
all in the desperate
hope and plea
that i might be reborn.

and as He hung there and thought of those
who’d betrayed and
abondoned Him,
was it enough
to make Him smile
to know He bore my sin?

i must question this eternal gift
sent centuries before
a life of love
a heart of peace
wrapped up
outside my door.
by Akaliza Gara

Ends