The King Who Chose To Die Poem by Haile Tesfaye

For many have come, and many have gone,
their names hewn deep in lifeless stone;
their crowns lie buried beneath the dust,
their kingdoms fallen, their glory rust.

The mighty rose with sword and flame,
and carved the earth to guard their name;
yet time, that silent grave of men,
hath swallowed them, and speaks their names no more.

But He, the Blessed One, came low,
where mortal grief and shadows grow.
He shaped the very soul of time,
not by throne, nor war, nor crime.

As Light, He entered into night,
not to condemn with wrathful might,
but to transform the darkened clay,
and teach the midnight how to pray.

He spake not as the kings of earth,
who measure man by land and birth;
with borders drawn and swords made bright,
they called their hunger law and right.

He built no power on thrones or gold,
nor sought the praise that empires hold;
His kingdom came through wounded hands,
and mercy poured on broken lands.

He brake the bread, and grace was poured,
and fed the lost at love's own board.
The undeserving He called near,
and washed their shame with holy tears.

For in Him, Truth became flesh,
and Love was nailed where wounds were fresh.
Eternity, clothed in human breath,
walked through sorrow, pain, and death.

The rulers of this world are known
for lands they seized and blood they sowed;
but He is known, not for what He won,
but for the weight He bore as Son.

False prophets came with tongues of fire,
yet fed the world with death's desire.
They changed the earth by taking breath;
He changed forever by tasting death.

For many men have conquered dust,
then turned themselves again to dust.
But He, though slain upon the tree,
made death bow down to mystery.

So ask, O soul, beneath the sky:
what manner of King would choose to die?
What manner of Lord would bear our stain,
and crown His love with human pain?

No man like Him hath walked below,
where tears are born and rivers flow.
For He fled not from our mortal night;
He entered in, and made it light.