When Grand Kabuki Pilots Played the Scarlet Symphony
When Jesus refused blindfold and a cigarette,
took his stance before the nailgun firing squad,
looked them in the eye and said, "I dare you.",
Lucifer was the loudest watcher in the room
to leap up, screaming, "No!".
Too late, right then Old Beelzebub
cringed at having got his Christmas wish,
discovering Christ, a Holy trojan horse,
held fatal dose of antitoxin,
a genetic chocolate soup strained from
celestial grease of red molasses
siphoned through the vein of God, Himself.
Stretched out on His wooden crashcart,
staring up into a For Sale sign
hung on Heaven's barbed wire fence,
the Son of God pulled His own plug,
flushed his soul into the sewer,
lost His license to eternity in the deal.
Punching out His otherworldly Samson eyes
so as not to see Himself hired out for rent
as Hade's jester
should His Father opt to never put up bail.
He fell into the deep dark skies of a unique aloneness,
a terrifying nothingness of nothing.
Tortured victim of His love and wretched faith,
Jesus, lost without a name tag,
bodiless in the tumble spin of deaf infinity
felt lightning strike;
electrified, he snapped to life,
a rubberband of light ensnared Him,
jerked all Hell from all around Him,
instantly retrieved the Lamb from
frozen ash inside the grit of Satan's hoof.
The rest becomes the gloried chronicle of victory,
a stunning script exploding, boldly writ
engraved across the ceiling of all nameless universes;
details of a deadly Love
which slayed the King of Kings by His own will,
required His bloody sacrificial ransom,
split Divinity asunder risking Kingdom for His children
then, ambushed the evil grin of death,
reversed that negative reality and birthed
a ravaging Holy firestorm
of undeserved redemption.
Copyright (c) 2009 Gary Brown