The Sting of Death (A Poem)
Near the cracking whip and tearing flesh stood the Adversary smiling.
Before him lie a broken man who was crying, bleeding, dying,
On whose frame was placed a scarlet robe and a crown on head for mocking,
And then a giant wooden beam and the command to start his walking.
Up the hill the man did walk, and the Adversary followed,
Afraid that but a change of mind would leave his scheming mindset hollow.
But the nail did pierce and tree was raised high for all nearby to see,
And on the beam was placed a sign: “Oh people, here’s your king.”
The Adversary sweated as the man struggled for breath –
It had almost been too easy; could this really end in death?
People told the man to come from there if he was who he claimed to be,
But the man just hung there, beaten down, with barely any strength to speak.
The schemer laughed when the man did pray, “Forgive them for what they’ve done,”
And as the sky grew black and heaven cried, he knew the battle had been won.
The earth did quake and the Father wept as the man did hang his head;
With delight old Satan clenched his fists: the Son of God was dead.
At last good Death had won the war with one last mighty sting,
The world was dim, the veil was torn – no angel dared to sing.
The devil danced in joyful fit as the guards sealed up the tomb –
The war had been waged not for naught; his perseverance was God’s doom.
He raised his scepter high those days as the world did turn to him,
Their broken hearts his Promised Land as they stumbled into sin.
Day One they lost all shreds of hope, Day Two they hoped again,
But when Day Three saw God still dead, they let their demons in.
He checked the tomb on that third day to bask in all he’d won,
But frenzy overtook his frame – the stone was rolled, the body gone.
The disciples had stolen his body! – but no, they were just as surprised as he…
The Adversary closed his eyes in despair. Surely it couldn’t be.
He spurned the people to a hunt, but no body could be found,
Instead rumors rose in the body’s stead; oh they were a wretched sound.
The devil fell to bended knee as the world regained its hope,
And he felt the crown fall from his head as the truth was set in stone.
He was in the room that somber day when it was filled with dazzling light;
And the Adversary to shadows fled at those scars, that voice, that might.
He realized at last the purpose of the life the man had lived
He lived not to speak and not to teach, but instead he had lived to give:
To give his life for all who fell prey to the Adversary’s schemes,
That cross had not been his defeat, but the fulfillment of his dreams.
He’d lived to die so man may live and now he lived again,
And Satan saw with bitter hate, the war’s new ironic end.
With labored breath he lost his strength as truth stole all his wealth –
When Death had stung the Son of Man, oh Death had stung itself.
