when my love
holds my hand
i imagine my palms
not kissed, not loved
but pierced with nails
stapled to a cross
and gushing with blood
instead, they wield pen
stroke heads
break falls
i wonder if His fingers
ached with grief
as they bled
i imagine Christ
as a child
full of divine wonder
i wonder
if He had a favourite colour
the times His tears
were dried by His mother
the world thinks of Him
as a baby
or a man
but i think of Him
wincing
as He scraped His knees
i think of Him
at sixteen
did He dream
of the day He would leave
depart from this world
to be free?
did He trace His own face
and find God?
it is
Christmas Eve again
and this time
i am not thinking
of any gift
as much
as the gift of life
the gift of
hands
whole, warm
made in the image
of a perfect Father
the gift
of celebration
instead of damnation
if He had not paid
for my sin
I would be damned
but His selfless plan
can bring me home
God, you know
i want to come home.
13:07 - 24/12/25.
-
Author:
Chloe S (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 24th, 2025 08:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
Well written, your poem juxtaposes the physical and emotional aspects of love and sacrifice. It reflects on Christ's humanity—his childhood, his pain, and his ultimate sacrifice on the cross—while also celebrating the gift of life and the warmth of human connection. The poet expresses a longing for spiritual homecoming and redemption.
thanks for reading!
A train of religious musings and thoughts at a time of celebration for the birth of a Messiah and savior. Well done
thank you!
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