My Little Jesus by writerforever

Echoes

Echoes of the whip

That lashes into his flesh

It echoes in my ears

I close my eyes

Trying to block out the horrible sounds

My son, Jesus, is being scourged

For no reason

Except for the fact that he said he was the Messiah

I open my eyes

I see his blood stained body

Like a sword, pain pierces my heart

Images of my son

My little Jesus

As a child, playing

Flashes through my mind

Tears caress my face

Finally the horrible moment comes

He is made to carry a cross

Up to Calvary's dark hill

His struggle

His suffering

Is to much for me to bear

I can hear the laughter of the soldiers

As they pierce his precious hands with nails

Those same hands that had held mine

Those same hands that had healed thousands

Those same hands that had clutched mine

When he was but a tiny babe

My little Jesus

The cross is raised

I look upon my son

Praying, but not getting a reply

Anger courses through my blood

I long to pull him down from the cross

I long to save him from this terrible fate

But I am helpless

I cannot save my little Jesus

With despair and utter sorrow

I cling to the bottom of the bloodstained cross

My son's blood trails down the wood

Falling onto my hands and head

I am unaware of this

All I can think of is his suffering

My little Jesus, I love you

I do understand why you must die

If I could save you I would

My little Jesus….