This is a poem that I wrote a few nights ago about the death of Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian Church. As I was writing it, I decided that I was going to move it to the perspective of Peter, the apostle of Jesus because in Acts chapter 8 verse 2 that "Godly men buried Stephen and mourned deeply for him." I thought it would be a cool, new perspective on the death of Stephen.
I remember him. and the sadness I had first see
In the slope of his shoulders.
He had to lift boulders with those shoulders,
Shouldering the weight of the Gospel
While inept people attempted to accept the concept of
Grace. And Mercy. Oh Redemption....
The people ought his authority about the Truth.
Yet he kept preaching that
Jesus slept, swept sin into hell, dusted his palms and
Waited three days for his death to take effect
Only to resurrect with the power to
Disinfect the people of their sin using GRACE.
...And his face... He had the face of an Angel.
and from every angle he was able to pose a proposal
for the reason Jesus committed his alleged blasphemy
And treason with rationality.
Even those who hated his beautiful words,
Couldn't help but see the beauty in his eyes
Blue like the skies, You could be baptized
rains that flowed from that guy's wise eyes...
I would get lost in those pools because
No matter how hard he cried, there was no depth
deep enough to drown his frustration..
I don't know what that implies about me...
But I try to make myself believe it was his reality
that still makes me weep.
I keep in mind the determination on his brow.
his willingness to die on behalf of the "Brown Eyed Man"
who had the holes in his hands
branded by sin...
My brother followed him, and his plan,
Faithfully stepping out and began to
graffiti all over the Sanhedrin's land,
"Your hearts, your ears, your eyes,
All of them are uncircumcised!!"
It was suicide.
But he died for a cause
because he had one mission
to open the Sanhedrin's scope of vision
The collision of a sick and twisted Kaleidoscope
creating colors that cause the capitulation of
My contempt at Saul's acquiescence of my
brother's death to be as Calloused as ever.
It is hard for me to forgive Paul....
to this day I still call him Saul
Because he is the one who took my friend
My brother's dying breath spoke of
REDEMPTION, rephrasing the prayer of the
Redeemer, falling to his knees and crying out,
"Lord, do not hold this sin against them."
This cut the hearts of the executioners deeper
Making them throw their stones harder
Making the pain in my chest swell
but the overflow of sorrow quelled my legs
that wished to rush out and protect him, for
He did not deserve that death.
And after he fell asleep,
the stones fell from the hands of the accusers
and the Jews that lined the bleachers to watch
the preacher bleed, got up and left.
And all that remained was my mangled friend Stephen.
His bravery to the END...
I'm sorry, I'm still mourning deeply for my friend...
but I borrow his strength an courage from the memories I carry,
and carry on his work for the Kamikaze mission we have been
All my brothers will die. One by one.
And I will die too.
With my arms spread wide
crucified upside down, drowning in grief for
the misfortunate ones
who never understood what it was that we died for.