I got lost in my head,
While walking steadily and alone.
I found a church, a knock on the door,
But I remembered I was just alone.
A cross with a man,
Some blood dripping,
Two eyes watching me,
And a voice calling my name.
The sound of the blood,
The slowly breathing,
The nauseating odor of death,
And a voice begging for help.
Why would someone be appreciated,
Only when his soul has left his body?
Why someone would be considered,
Only when he's gone from this world?
Why does death bear the meaning of life?
Why people don't consider the living,
But cherish people only when gone forever?
Why do humans have to be so grotesque?
Explanation:
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Usually the figure of Jesus is represented on a cross, but we often forget that he died on that cross, and that Christianity was born only in that death. The thing is not isolated to Jesus, but it expands to very many people who were considered only after their death.
