Oct 12, 2009

A poem by our very own Candy Savage.

                            Blood Stained Hands
I stand at the foot of the cross and look up into His face;
I wish with all my heart that He was in a better place.

I place my cheek against the wood as closer to the cross I stand;
I caress His nail torn feet and look down at my blood stained hands.

I see His life blood drip from my fingers and I begin to cry;
I want to turn back time as I cry out "Why, oh why?"

He looks down into my face from high upon that cross;
His eyes seem to scream my name and say "My life has not been lost."

I want so much to take Him down and bathe His spear pierced side;
To breathe a breath into his lungs and beg Him not to die.

They finally lower His body to the ground and I fall by His side in the sand;
I caress His lifeless body, then stare at my blood stained hands.

I think of what my life was like before I knew this simple man;
Before I followed Him to the cross and saw His blood seep through my hands.

I get up and walk away as they carry Him to the tomb;
I walk to our home where I can still feel His presence in His old little boy room.

I'll never get over the way He died, persecuted by enemies on that cross;
Through tears I'll carry this hole in my heart for the life of the Son that I lost.

He gave His life for the people He loves so they'll be forgiven of sin;
Through eternity He'll watch and wait for His people to come to Him.

I was my hands in the stream to get rid of the blood;
It doesn't come off so I have to wash them again and again.

I realize then that all I'll see when I look
Is the sight of my blood stained hands.
 
                                                   by Candy Savage