Listen to Crimson Threads  performed by James Pickin:


Hands outstretched

Held into place by nails

Forming the sign of perfect love

The Light turned to darkness seemingly from that point thereof

 

That moment

Where onlookers look on

At the scene which is unfolding

And see crimson blood from crimson scars

And the threads of their lives that brought them there are also made crimson too.

 

These crimson threads

These story lines

Bound together

In a moment in time

Woven through lives

By the hand of the divine

 

The Roman Solider

First a man who mocked

Is now drawn to his knees in shock and awe

Asking a question he can no longer ignore

‘Who is this man?’

One which hours before happily slapped the face that now hangs lifeless in front of him

Is in this moment given sight of a king

 

Then a women who knew him not

But shake his impression she cannot

As she comes before her husband Pilate

And describes the dream she had

Of that man clad in crimson

Is indeed the beloved of heaven

That moment of the man sent to his death

She cannot condone it within an ounce of her breath

 

Then the beloved disciple

Looked on as daring dreams fade to grey

As all once hoped for is gone away

As lifeless head now droops from

Wooden tree

The longing still left to journey with thee

Once son of thunder just a pale dull sky

As the fire once felt

Is quelled by death to also die

Along with the one he called king

 

Finally the doting mother

Daggers of pain surge though her skin

As she looks upon the death of her own true kin

Flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood

Now torn and spilled before her very eyes

She watched on as cries of anguish replace years of laughter

The son she raised now gone there after

Those cries have now quietened to silence and are replaced by her own

The epitome of her hopes now dashed

Like the crimson blood that flows from her sons lifeless body

‘Oh to hold him again, my son, my son’

 

These crimson threads

These story lines

Bound together

In a moment in time

Woven through lives

By the hand of the divine

 

That moment

Where onlookers look on

At the scene which is unfolding

And see crimson blood from crimson scars

Little did they know that the threads of their lives that brought them there are also made crimson too.