Seven Hundred Thousand Roses

He speaks wisely, and I ignore him.
He works a miracle, and I compare him to the devil.
He extends me peace and consolation,
and I angrily slap his hand away.
So I take him bodily, roughly,
and he comes obediently,
ever obedient to His Father.
And I lash him to the wood.
I tremble a bit now,
giddy with rage.
How dare he?
I feel the spike heavy in my hand.
In a wide arc the mallet falls,
and from the wound comes a red, heavy flow.
Seven hundred thousand roses bloom at once.
The full fragrance of mercy.
How dare he!
His heart spills out innocent love,
the love of a child
that in Gethsemane asked,
“Are you sure of this Father?”
“Are you really sure?”
Even then the blood began to fall
in heavy drops.
It is a consuming love
a fire
a strong steady wind
It comes for you
It is the Kingdom
the Power
the Glory
Love now
and forever

One comment on “Seven Hundred Thousand Roses

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