Finding the Atonement

Too lazy to write anything new today, so here's an poem thing I threw together for the Christchild Fireside our ward had last night. The idea was to make something using your talents that you would give to Christ, then exchange the gifts with people in the ward. I hope I would do better than this if I was actually to write something for Christ, but this will have to do for now.

Sorry about the two days of poetry. I'm in an obscure mood lately. I've also become fairly obsessed with allusions to the scriptures. Is there a genre of poetry for people who simply rearrange and juxtapose preexisting scriptures? (Perhaps similar to this song?) If so, I have a great one involving John. I apologize for this being a really rough draft--I only had an hour to write it. It sounded better in my head, I think. The punctuation needs work. (It feels odd to say that, and actually mean it too.)


In welts rising--
from thrown stones
or stinging lashes.

Not in a lavish house or fine linen
but in a finger writing sins in the dirt
and washing them away with tears.

In those yearning to brush a hem,
looking down in shame
bound in chains,

Plucked from a bed of sin
straightway leaving entangling nets
beginning to till hardened souls,

Leaving the dead to bury themselves
in whitened sepulchers
and untended sheepfolds,

As disciples, ascending the mountain,
find more than a teacher
ready to lift and be lifted

On a tree--
a rain of blood
baptism to my soul.

The crown
plaited from
thorns of my flesh.

The vinegar
disappointment
and bitter loss.

The dice
of random fate
parting all.

The words:
"The King of the Jews"
interred under stony weight.

An angel rolls it back.
A scent of lingering spices:
He enters

In my heart--
a gentle whisper
salve of peace.