No documents inscribed to mark His birth.
No bones decayed beneath our ancient earth.
No DNA to scrutinise or scan,
genetic profile of this living man.
No labyrinth of lines on digits dipped,
in inky fluid, staining finger tips.
No records found depicting dental health,
nor tax returns assessing personal wealth.
No school reports of childhood progress saved,
for parents' to admire how He behaved.
No portrait or a profile roughly etched,
no picture of this man was ever sketched.
No film or footage of His living years.
No wife to share the burdens and the tears.
No keepsakes or creations that He made,
have ever been discovered or displayed.
No audio recordings ever there,
the voice that caused a heathen's heart to stir.
And yet............
A life no other man has ever matched.
In multimillion seller still dispatched.
The symbol of His death, a simple cross,
adorns our necks in memory of such loss.
He is the landlord of all holy places,
all visitors He lovingly embraces.
His name is praised in victory, cursed in vain,
is whispered by the lonely and in pain.
Is screamed out loud in times of desperation,
and mouthed in silence during dedication.
His presence, ever constant, ever real
Enables us to live, to love, to heal
The only being blessed with pure perfection,
should be the focus of our hearts' affection.
He was, is, and always will be....Jesus Christ, saviour of humanity.
Ellen Johns...
Easter Blessings to you all.
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