The Prophets of God…

The celebration of Easter, the pageants, the elaborate preparations, the days of ceremony, how does it compare with the image of the man, dragging his cross through the narrow streets, his body showing the whipping it had received, the crowds along the street, leaning in, trying to catch a glimpse of the great pretender, as they would have been told, the blasphemer, what was in their minds, a mixture of pity and justice intermingled, the Eyes of Jesus imploring, is there none of you that will help, wondering what happened to his followers, the miracles he performed, a broken man.

Then the sudden changes in the weather, the earthquakes, the darkening sky, the response of the Holy Father in Heaven, this is what happened to the Spirit he sent in the form of man, the story of the vineyard told in the cruelest form, the prophecy made true, for those who believed that Jesus came from God. How did God react, the savior was murdered, they had paid no heed to the warnings despite seeing the miraculous, only to find out later, that they had indeed murdered another prophet of God, just as Jesus had told them. Beware of them he said.

Would the next holders of the Spirit do it any differently, would they be guardians of the Spirit, or would they too, behave as those who crucified had done. The big question, the years pass, the vanity of men in power, the usurping of the seat of saint peter, and advent of Protestantism, as the behaviour of the popes undermined the words of Jesus, even making themselves infallible, something even Jesus never did, always referring to the Father, and being humble despite having the power to do anything. In this mix, the creation of secret societies, to prevent the so called authority that enforced their will with the sword, from ever repeating the great harm again. amen

Got Nothing

He shakes his head, stays outside the shop, his friends go in, he watches, their father gave them money, his mother can’t afford it, she’s on allowance, his father, he rarely see’s him, got nothing. The jeans are designer, she coo’s over them, high on the hips, her friend is lucky, her father is a lawyer, they can afford them, the stuff she would do, just so she could wear them, got nothing to trade, only her skin. The mirror is overdosed, has seen so many reflections and poses, cutie, sly, sexy, serious, mean, devious, drugged, but in the end, there’s nothing, they fade. What lasts for ever and what is temporary, it was the old scripture. He’d a friend, a small friend in a corner, and it had been tough, coping without a father, a world bent on social networking, it was not easy growing up, even the games they play, thumb twiddling, and a host of older ones addicted to the adult world and the threat it carried. Avoiding the weirdo’s was not easy, so many heads already filled with stuff only horror writers used to conceive. At least his friend would develop character, and that was something. In suffering or sacrifice, there was the chance of developing, so if he thought he got nothing, he was getting something, just didn’t realize it, amen. AND, he had a host of angels looking over him, got nothing, think again smiled Solomon, the existence of God Most High was no longer a doubt, and there was more to come, amen.