Tuesday, September 1, 2009

To the be accompanied by Marche Funebre. Lento by Frederic Chopin


His head, which once balanced purposefully with didactic authority over masses upon the masses now lunged forward-came to rest over his bruised and blooded chest. In a crack of lightening--God-power, the Son of God was plunged into the deep where the temple of judgement has always waited to either lift or damn it's subject. Up the lengthy marled stretch, the King of the Jews approaches one thong-less foot after the other. Naked and unaccompanied, His mutilated, corpselike body slowly, yet steadily nears the seat of judgement. His body is expired fully, yet never appears to infirm the bowl of gold-attoped with His own blood of purity, submission, and soon redemption. His surroundings are blank, Jesus, the Christ enters the only fully fearful room of time and space. The structure remains while the air within vibrates at the royal sight of a truly noble King zealous with angry compassion for His sinful people; He adores them. Now the Christ moves fluently to the thone of judgement. With the grace of a young bride, the ambition of a young pursuing man, the tears of a new Father, the embrace of a long Mother-Yeshua approaches. Now in a crescendo of massive justice, seeming unjust-the cosmos shakes and tilts in struggle at the sight of innocent blood spilling from a bowl over the seat of damnation and heavenly glory and power.

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