Christ

Theres that nothing I would
Ever rather
Do, than kneel
To than
Who hangs over
There,
Blood pouring down his face and his arms as he hangs in
The bright, open
Daylight people watching all day
where
Only Christ
The almighty is
Brave enough to listen to have his hands pierced with nails, only to stay hanging,
For us who he died for. I would never rather
Sit and pray
to
Something fake and unbrave, Something
That is only more
alike
To people who surround me everyday, nothing other than my
own
clay