Jesus

Who I was, was left unspoken.
The reaction would never be good.
I, myself,
had important questions,
obsession strong as a drug.

I knew my father didn't like me
though providing food.
My mother,
afraid of the elders,
was worried about what I might do.

For a time, I soared up with star power,
just as quickly fell
and was whipped through town
like a felon.
When I was nailed to the cross,
I was abandoned.

I died naked, the target of jeers.

If you think God's love isn't costly,
think of all the years
this drama of pain has gone on:
every Easter, mostly.