The Saviour

Born on the floor,
A mucky street
The poor lad cried.

With those humble beginnings
He can understand
And sympathise.

But he is begotten not made,
Like his father.

He saved us before,
And he will do it again.
His father, immortal
Loving and giving.
The perfect dad

But no one to call dad
When he reaches home
His mum lying drunk on the ground

Only he will find out,
In his later years
When the world holds him
Restricting his thinking and thoughts

A boy like he will survive.
His memory will remain.
A boy with courage and truth
Truth opens the window to the light.

Light wrestles the shadows
And frees his soul
He’s filled with love the Father gave him.

Like an angel from above
His curls fall gracefully
They will call him godly.

Few will hear his story,
The story of his birth
But he will not be forgotten.

Many will mock his confidence and charm
But many will follow his footsteps
Unable to stir themselves from his faithful presence
Loving their loyalty to his doom, as he did before.