PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

(for "Sir" ---, self-styled dominant, whose entitlement will someday be disestablished by a greater Lord)

[after Luke 4:19, Isaiah 53, and elsewhere]

By his stripes, and no more mine, I am healed.
By his submission, not mine, I need yield
no more to you.  He said we should not weep
for Him:  and that, too, means no more hot tears
pleading for surcease with my head hung toward
you---false and feeble dominus (and lord
no longer now).  His crown of thorns and pallor
removes from my pale throat this hard, iron collar.
What I consented to, once, need not keep
me tossed about, in that cold cage, in sleep
(torn by dark ghosts).  Pierced through His flesh, those nails
forever stay your whips, floggers, and flails
from my backside.  Your shackles and cold chains
are broken by the least of His bloodstains,
from His flayed back and body, in red smears
upon that Roman cross.  From the bad dream
of your lifestyle, He wakes me to esteem
(His own).  Although your dungeon once subjected
me, from that tomb I have been resurrected.
His sinless death restores my life.  How proved?---
a miracle, here in the shadowed dark
of this noon:  what once was your branded mark
is gone, smoothed over, utterly removed.