The Reason

A torn and tattered life, he led
From poor, unapparent stock was bred
Lowly: true, although inadequate
Obscurity: where the scene is set.

He was a root out of a dry ground
No source of nourishment around
Four hundred years without a single word
One more sacrifice, one less lamb to herd.

But the time arrived when God drew near
The report? “Emmanuel is here.”

Not much is known about his young life then
Only that it was lacking sin.
Yet here he is, this path he treads
King of kings, uphill he heads.

Life had not been a bed of roses
(Rough, the tawdry crowd supposes)

Bending low and burdened down
Walking through the ancient town
Toward a goal and for a dream
Open-mouthed, a silent scream

Nothing more than exhaled breath
Yet more, as he draws near death
Pressing toward the end in sight
Pressing through his darkest night

And still, the crowd looks on
Torches dim as dark leaks dawn
And no one says a word
As if their vision blurred
Their eyes concealed, his fate revealed.

Upon a cross, this man is hung
Vinegar and gall to wet his tongue
Refused, to fully know his pain
Then death. The veil is rent in twain.

Within the tomb, this man is sealed
Yet from the tomb, his power revealed
Bursting forth, and from the depths
Of death, He rose victorious.

to the Reason,
– Caleb