Weightless Gift nu Azwi-Hilton

Upon an ovoid hill, the still silence broke,
Where love once hung beneath the oak,
Not for applause, nor pride, nor fame,
But for the lost, He bore the flame.

No crown of gold, but spiky thorns instead.
No royal robe, but raw wounds that bled.
The hands that shaped the stars above,
Were pierced to show the depth of love.

He saw a tainted world in shattered glass,
Each soul marred by its shadowed past.
Yet still He chose the acrid bitter cup,
And drank it full facilely to lift us up.

This was no debt that we could pay,
No ladder well-built by work or way.
But grace, unearned, fell soft like rain,
To cleanse the hearts that harbored pain.

And mercy… Oh, that sacred strand,
Stitched life into what once was dead.
Not counting wrongs, not querying why,
But soft-whispering hope with every sigh.

So here we stand, not by our might,
But bathed in undeserving astute light.
The cost was great, and the gift is free.
A passionate love beyond all boundaries.

By Azwi-Hilton

IG and X: Azwi-Hilton

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