the last days

Farewell my child; it is over, For the nails they have pounded into my hands, The thorn crown they lay upon thy head: The skies weep blood, and silence expands Through olive groves and shattered bread. O child of sorrow, born from breath and flame, The world has not known what it cast away— A whisper of grace in a realm of shame, A lamb led low at the break of day. I called to them in parables and pain, In the hush between thunder and tide, Yet hearts of stone did still remain While truth stood pierced and crucified. Now rise, my child, though shadow falls; The veil is torn, the debt is paid. In darkest tombs, a new light calls— Let not thy soul be now dismayed. For death is fleeting, and love shall stay, Etched in the wounds I freely bear. So go with peace upon thy way— I leave thee not, though I’m not there.