The Martyr

He was just a little boy.
With a father who wanted time for himself.
And a mother who made his time her own.

Father;
said hello and took off.
Mother;
said farewell and never left his side.
She tried to raise him to be a good man
His father wanted him to be more

He was just a young man
Who wanted to be seen
Would go to the ends of the earth
if it would only please him

So he left home
kissed his mother's wet cheek
and walked in search of a story.

And along the way, he made people smile
and feel good.
They all smiled.
And they'd gather and laugh
And dance
And sing!
A chorus he knew his mother would always approve of.
A chorus so loud he hoped father could hear.

But when they found out he was good
the people began to change
They stood around
waiting for their loaves
He was more than happy to oblige.

When he talked, they listened less
demanded more.
When he walked, they asked to be carried.
He offered wine.
They got drunk.

He had broken bread
Cried tears of blood.
Asked if his father could hear him.
Silence deafened the sleeping masses.

He offered a broken message.
Give.
Give, give, give until your heart can't give anymore.
Give when it's not asked for.
Give when it's not needed.
Give when it hurts to do so.

They took.
Oh they certainly took.
And the more they took,
the more his temple crumbled to the ground.

They nailed him to a cross.
They lifted him up.
She weeped for her son
wished she could take the pain onto herself.

They asked for his blood.
He gave it.
They asked for his life.
He gave it.
They asked for everything.
He gave them his all.
They took it and asked for seconds.

- Matthew