Wait, if Jesus died for our sins,
wouldn't his sacrifice be in vein
if we don't sin?

Or, is it that
he was killed
because of our sinful nature?

Further, would his selfless redemption have been possible without the ever-so-hated Judas?
Isn't he just as necessary as Jesus to this tale?
Just as the Devil is with God?

I guess I'm overthinking this.
Thinking begets trouble.

You craft your own sins.
Do anything; whatever
your heart desires, babe.

Three days later and
I decided I'm wasted
through stranger methods.

***, coffee, cheap food,
sleep deprivation, music
[loud to keep **** out].

Dark sunglasses, or
general debauchery.
Keeping it simple.

Keeping it stupid,
no reason for the format.
Meaningless to me.

I exist in their
sins, held responsible by
association.

They are crafting me
out of their foolish mistakes.
Eager accidents.

I drown in their filth
and come back completely whole.
The resurrection.

"The Lovely *******;
innocent to innocence/
No stranger to loss."
~
On resurrection;
Die once and live forever?
That's not sacrifice.

Christians are insane,
but I am too in their eyes.
It gives me comfort.

That's no martyrdom,
nothing selfless in the flesh.
They still consume it.

Tap out Easter inanities
space it like a bunny-hop
throw in a pastel glottal stop.
Keep it short; digestible
and let it roll: comestible.
See then if they like the dish,
and grant them every starry wish.

What Now?

After the resurrection
After flying away
At the end of your day
What now?

What will you know?
Where will you be?
Who will you see?
Will you see me?

When you die
It's the end of you
And the end of me
Because the me that you see
Will no longer be

And when I die
It's the end of me
And the end of you
Because the you that I see
Will no longer be

But our minds will still be
Our minds will still see
Differently

Sean Hunt    Easter 2016

Circo nips on the go, the road
no mortgage or roof on the mobile home
Making music with the wind, her curls

I watch it --picture frame the moment with my hands on canvas
memories and dreams are sandwiched
no lettuce,

but the tank lets us cruise with these 6 figure fantasies worry free courtesy a day dream,
Or déjà vu if I could choose, and I chose.

We choose to break the rules so what's on ya mind?

pulled into a rest stop indecent crimes
with a box full of promises tucked in my pocket,
Just know that it will surface but to you I'm not worth it

Just don't cosign the lies that they tell don't sign the doted line or give me that bill --it's all premature don't treat it all like a stillborn,

Still on fact I see you once every 6 months

I figured I was important figured that she could wait now contemplating extortion, how can ways of the selfish out weigh what's important
Cue curtains, hands off canvas

A silent mourn prior to another portrait, she spoke:
"take my body if the last supper"
Pardon myself from my favorite flavor no savoring the savior who can't even save herself or society.

A fleeing dream so I bow my head in homage
no suffering no more, you've painted our last hour
she painted my true colors and the water works are real and the water color dripping from her slits surreal so literal my ******
pause--
is it right to call my lord a drug my lord I question your judgment,
Your words your core I judge is war or warmth
or worms, you were she was an apple to sight the but cost of love-- too expensive
shot of Circo now I'm way too aggressive,
I park my home parallel my clone and walk past the Dive Bar where we met regressing psychologically,
eyeing me from another table
her social disciples that follow her and rival my every breath
I take a sip reminded of that flavor, her lips I'm awoke since 3 days after my last fix my vice is her a grip
Who The **** Was That, That walked Pass?!
clashing personalities, flammable as gas I'm corroded
shotgun, empty,
as a weapon with no motive
no navigator-- nor a map to my emotions shes coding I'm losing it,
I'm losing her my portrait
promises are broken I promise my undoing is a loose interpretation I use it for my benefit
clever for I love you
I loathe you makes more sense  
so who am I to judge with an empty box full of promises intended as a tattoo
her legs on the table
I say my final prayer:

"for supper I will have you" wine hold the water I'm prepared for the last stroke.

Can't be sad that I have no Easter poem, the bible says it all
that whence He died, He died for my Soul
He took beatings, insults and all sorts of pains
including crowning with thorns to free my chains
He carried a cross in shame whipped by scorn and hate
just so you and me could have tickets to Heaven,He changed our fate
He stood up each time the weight got Him succumbing to gravity
because He knew we ain't no Devil's property
He even descended into the hades,it was no fairy tale
and that way we all, to go to paradise won't have to go through Hell
He beat the Devil in many ways including the forty days
when the cunning lad tried to tempt Him with Earthly praise and raise
At the Gardens in Gethsemane whilst the disciples slept He bled
and didn't end there,on the third day He rose fresh from the dead
ask me not how I gained from Jesus' suffering death and resurrection
for it's beyond measure, it's as miraculous as the transfiguration
but my lesson besides the gain is that I can overcome pain
that no matter how steep the hills may seem there's always a plain
that even when all hope is gone there's a third day to rise
that the devil is out there in the desert, I should always shine my eyes
He taught me that those who crown us with thorns don't define who we are
We're kings and Authors of our stories, different from what they claim by far
Jesus taught us to forgive the Judas and the Peters
We shouldn't forsake them just because they looked on while the world beat us
that while on my cross,some are going to give me inspirational talk
sincerely while others are just going to satirise and mock
that there are still good people in this world who can help me with my load
Just like Simon of Cyrene lifted the cross that burdened my lord
I just have to let them in, a crowd of adversaries can't lack a friend
He reminded me that in this world I am but a visitor
you should always remember this even after Easter
so many lessons there are but mostly, that death is not the end

With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit
Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit
I'm not really sure of what they believed about God
but they didn't attend church at that time.

While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany
due to a lock out in the NHL
and her mother was out of town,
I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend.
I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night
I approached the subject of God with her.

She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time,
so initially she was afraid.
I think she said something like if God came to her front door
she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in.
Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely
no better than to mess with him lol.
I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend.
Of course we also discussed how we can't see him
and what Heaven is,
and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers,
but she did listen intently.

We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress,
a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then,
She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age
she had little if any real understanding,
But now she is a young woman,
a believer in Christ, living an amazing life,
an encourager,
strong like her father,
and I can't help but hope a little
that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago
may have helped shape her into the person she is today.

A few years back she shared with me on facebook
a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state.
The poem was worn & tattered
but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years
is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me.
I may never have children of my own,
Not always an easy thing to accept,
But I do thank God for the time I was given
in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.

They made him carry a cross
They whipped him until he bled
Why would a God allow
What no man can endure
And as he fell once again
His neighbor remembered what he said

They nailed his feet without mercy
And then his hands
He cried out to save them
They know not what they do
It was greater than loaves and fishes
Forgiveness they could never understand

They lanced his side
Though he was already dead
When water poured out
They filled their cups
And before they could drink of it
They saw that the water was red

The took him down
And divided his clothes
What did they do with the cross
Did they burn it
Or build a church
I wonder if anybody knows

The placed him in a tomb
And sealed it with a stone
He said destroy this temple
And in three days I will rise it up
They saw it with their own eyes
Still no man was able to atone

The stone invited them in
The angels told them the news
He has risen
And when he returned
He showed them his hands
And said, this church is built upon you

You didn't care much for Easter
or for flowers for that matter
yet I went to the store and bought
a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips.

Now here I stand in the midday sun
my shaking fingers clutching the long green stems,
as a warm, slow tear drips off my chin.
I kneel down and set the flowers down next to the temporary sign that holds your name,
wondering again why I even bothered.

I grab a handful of the dirt that now hugs your body and cringe at the thought of you laying just feet below me.
I can't help but wish that you were here.

The Easter Bunny is a friend of mine
He used to lay his eggs in my back yard
But once I moved, it got to be too hard.
We’ve been buddies a long, long time.
It’s all my fault he visits me no more
He had to make it from Kansas to Nome.
That is far too long a trip for him
But, that is where I bought my home.

He was a pretty good old boy, indeed
For all his reproductive strangeness.
He was sort of like a football player
In a long lavender red carpet dress.
Harder to me, to accept whole cloth
Was what he had to do with Jesus.
But as a magic rabbit, for sure
He could lay eggs as he pleases.

So, every year during springtime
Here came my friend the bunny.
He’d **** out colored eggs, he did,
And nobody thought it’s a bit funny.
That he’s six feet tall, like Harvey,
Cusses like a sailor makes me laugh.
But that he is a Christian symbol is
Not really reasonable by about half.

Still, who am I to quibble about tradition?
It is fun for everyone at this time of year.
Along comes this unscientific miracle
And the kids smile from ear to ear.
They run around collect these eggs
That to me often looked rather scary
And do not question the bunny tale
Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.