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My Brother; My King by Belinda van Rensburg My brother, Jesus, is older than me; Though we are both children it's plain to see That we're as different as chalk from cheese; I quarrel and fight; He advocates peace. While I am at play He wanders away Preferring to spend the cool of the day Talking to Himself (or so it may seem); A sensitive youth; a dreamer of dreams. We're young men now; both strong and tall He is so pure; I belong to the Fall. He never does anything sinful; bad He doesn't get jealous, nasty or mad. Oftentimes at our carpenter's bench He'd explain to me that He's come to quench The thirst of all who desire to live; That He has the power to heal; forgive. We are grown men; we're wiser and older; As time has passed He has become bolder - Declaring; explaining to one and all The need to repent; to answer God's call. They taunted and beat and killed Him today, His crucified body left on display As 'proof' that He is not God but a man; Jesus, the unblemished sacrificed Lamb! My brother, my brother, I mourn Your death; My heart near broke when you gave Your last breath. How could this have happened to You, God's Son - Jesus, the only true Innocent One? An earthquake; a tear and the sky turns black, Some graves burst open; their dead have come back - A stone rolled away – His body is gone; Jesus is risen; the war has begun! Jesus, my brother, is diff'rent from me; Eyes opened by God are able to see We certainly are not the same at all - He is the King - and I His thrall. |
 This poem won 1st place for the September 2009 poetry contest |
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