Thank you, Jesus

Hard, rusty nails
held his hands and feet
in a place they didn’t want to be.

Ropes tied tightly around his arms
held his body
in a place it didn’t want to be.

A crown of thorns
was firmly pressed
in a place he didn’t want it to be.

The cross
was roughly fashioned,
a place Christ didn’t want to be.

His love for you and me
kept him there,
in that place he chose to be.



(Excuse my lack of poetic skill, but I wanted to express a little bit of gratitude.)