Thought of the Bounder
And when they had bound Him, they led Him away and delivered Him to Pontius Pilate the governor. Matthew 27:2 NKJV
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| "Together Forever" by Bharath Kumar via Unsplash |
Rope and orders to “Bound the man!”
He likened some lordship, yet . . .
held out his hands.
Quick glance his eyes struck me
and waned my strength bleak. This weak man
could see my grief.
I resisted and hid my lost eyes so wretched
To his hands. To his hands!
His hands outstretched.
The rope ‘round his wrists were taut and restrained.
“For all those things—all --
My hand has made.”
The silent words droned my mind and won’t fade,
“These hands are yours, God,
I now degrade?”
I touch not his hands, his fingers, his skin
For just a brush
Sends a tremble within.
“Make fists!” is silent and strained in my throat
I could hold or grip, but
Might I not let go?
Done with knot tight, I stare down in awe.
What sickness, what disease
Empowers pride? withdrawal?
These hands – can they cover my shame and my sin?
Healing, forgiving.
New life again?
But I earned this position,
so detached I stand.
Despite hunger forward to take His hand.
And now it’s too late! He’s taken away
And pushed to walk
To his death. To dismay.
Thoughts of His hands, how they heal, leave me, please!
To a Cold heart I retort
And give the pain ease.
The Creator of all that exist still stands.
And I, enslaved, bounded His hands.