Blood

The price of sin is blood,
an ancient law which
has never been revoked.
How much blood
to cover my sins,
your sins,
the sins of a world?
The blood of the world,
your blood,
mine?
No.
The price has been paid —
in full, for all — by one man,
nailed to a cross
and bled,
bled until his fluids
ran clear.
The blood of a man,
dead on a Friday,
risen as Son of God
on Sunday.
Blood shed to pay
the price for you
and me.

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1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Blood

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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