Give Them All

By Rachel Armenta

Rachel poem 2.jpg

The splinters sliced my hands

And pierced into my soul,

But I continued upwards,

Driven towards my goal.


I climbed the wooden beam

As fast as I could go,

Towards a piece of paper

That condemned my weary soul.


My shirt was drenched with blood,

But the blood was not my own.

It was from the Perfect Man, 

Whose death for sin atones.


When I reached the crossbeam,

I told my lungs to breathe.

I had climbed this wretched cross,

This cross called Calvary.



Through the paper was a nail,

But I ripped the pages free,

Choosing not to leave them there,

But to carry them with me.


The guilt and shame I carry 

Is not designed for me to bear,

So why then do I seek it,

When He has nailed it there?


A love that is unfailing.

A mercy without end.

Yet, foolish human that I am,

I would relive it once again.


Guilt is for repentance.

Shame, not for despair.

Give them all to Jesus,

And then,