Jesus (Who's He? ?) - Poem by Bernard Franklin
Sometimes I pray so hard at Christmas,
that the world will look again,
at the reasons why we have to take,
sweet Jesus name in vain.
Where once the commercial side of Christmas,
was a seedy sin we bore,
it’s now outstripped the gospel’s teachings,
on our religion it’s waged war.
The shops are open now at Christmas,
so are pubs and clubs and banks,
the church holds fete’s and Sunday raffles,
where once we used to pray with thanks.
The T.V.’s full of sex and violence,
the daily papers do their part,
to destroy the holy message,
so out of Christmas tear it’s heart.
We all like to think we’re Christians,
and not corrupt in any way,
but not many say the lords prayer,
on this most sacred Christian day.
What’s the meaning then of Christmas,
as the year draws in to its close? ,
it’s a time to heal old friendships,
and to forgive our ancient foe’s.
It’s only been the past few decade’s,
where Christian teachings have not taught,
so to children spread across all nations,
Jesus Christ means next to nought.
It’ll only take a few more decade’s,
to destroy two thousand years,
it’ll only take a few more decade’s,
to erase our saviour’s tears.
When Christmas has no other meaning,
than to give and then to get,
when the faith of mankind’s bankrupt,
will Jesus Christ repay our debt? .
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