Hanging from a Blood Soaked Tree
Hanging from a Blood Soaked Tree
By: Adam M. Snow
One morn as under a great tree I lay,
Misery held me in its pain-filled sway.
I dreamt of a life where I wasn't numb,
Sleepwalking my way toward the dusk to come.
I felt sweat drops that I thought were rain,
And opening my eyes, saw a man hung in pain.
His feet were crossed and his arms stretched wide;
I could see no life in this man. Had he died?
Arose a voice from the blood soaked tree,
'I died for you so that you are free.'
I sat there stunned in my ignorant sleep,
My curiosity teased by a tree that speaks.
I lingered in repose, knowing not what was said;
Clinging to the echoing voice in my head-
'I did this for you.'
With eyes of blue-
He wept.
His head was pierced with thorns claw-like,
And each hand was nailed by a rusty spike.
He calls to me by my name,
I couldn't help it but show my shame.
Words arose from his lips,
As his blood still drips.
His voice so dear,
So pure, so clear;
Spoken once more-
His voice was dear as it said to me,
'I died for you so that you are free.'
There then rose a light, blinding as the morn;
'Fear not, ' he said 'For I am reborn'
'Behold, ' he said, 'My blood is made pure,
I am not dead, I am dying's cure! '
His voice drew near, and whispered he:
'I died for you so that you are free.'
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Related quotes
Ode to a Cross
Ode to a Cross
By: Adam M. Snow
Made from an old dogwood tree,
betrayed for all the world to see.
With three nails upon the cross,
Satan bows his head emboss.
The blood drips, staining splinters,
pours out upon all ranters.
Your arms stretched wide, your feet bounded,
all's frozen, the thunder sounded.
To the heavens you cried out,
praying for all of us no doubt.
Stained by blood is that old tree,
you were hung and died for me.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Jeptha's Daughter
I
Since our Country, our God—Oh my Sire—
Demand that thy daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was brought by thy vow—
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!
II
And the voice of my mourning is o'er—
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!
III
And of this, oh! my Father! be sure—
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow—
And the last thought that soothes me below.
IV
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!
V
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd—
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd—
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Castro Alves From Brazil
Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?
Yes, but those petals were not dewed,
those black waters had no words,
those eyes were those who saw death,
still burning the tortures behind love,
Spring was splashed with blood.
I sang for the slaves, aboard the ships
as a dark branch of wrath.
They travelled, and bled from the ships
leaving us the weight of a stolen blood.
I sang in those days against the inferno,
against the sharp languages of greed,
against the gold drenched in the torment,
against the hand that rose the whip,
against the maestros of darkness.
Each rose had one dead man in their roots.
The light, the night, the sky were covered in tears,
the eyes separated from wounded hands
and it was my voice the only one to fill the silence.
I wanted that from the man we could be rescued,
I believed that the route passed through the man,
and from there destiny would be made.
I sang for those who had no voice.
My voice hit doors that until then were closed
so that, fighting, Freedom could be let in.
Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book
is reborn to a free land,
let me, poet of our America,
to crown your head with the laurels of the people.
Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men.
You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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Soldier's Tree
They call this tree the Soldier's Tree
It honours one whose life blood was shed
A victim of the First World War
'Lest we forget our soldier dead'.
I read the plaque nailed to the tree
It stated his date of birth and name
A tree to honour his bravery
But to dead soldier what use fame? .
I see he was just seventeen
So young so very young to die
Those who sent him to fight in war
Must share blame for death of the boy.
Fighting more than half a World away
And at the end what was his gain?
Gunned down by one he'd never known
Hope death was quick without much pain.
How can one that you've never known
Ever become your enemy?
Those who send men to die in wars
Of guilt must not be made feel free.
I read the plaque on Soldier's Tree
On war memorial avenue
A lad who died at seventeen
Gunned down by one he never knew.
poem by Francis Duggan
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How Can You Refuse Him Now
Writen and sung by hank williams
Chorus:
(e7) how can (a) you refuse him now, how can (e) you refuse him now,
How can you turn away from his (b7) side,
With (e) tears in his eyes, on the (a) cross there he (e) died,
How can you re - (b7) fuse jesus (e) now.
(e) theres a story old, that has (a) often been (e) told,
Of how our savior (b7) died, as they (e) nailed his hands,
He cried they (a) dont under - (e) stand,
As the blood flowed (b7) from his (e) side. (e7)
Repeat chorus
As he hung there on the tree, he prayed for you and me,
There was no one his pain to ease,
Be - fore he died, he faintly cried,
Father for - give them please.
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Just A Tree
I'm just a tree.
I bare the thorns
to share my pain,
kind of like her
scars I've seen.
She used me...
Leaned against me,
Used my thorns
for her relief.
Now she tells me, the tree,
that she has nothing
left to be.
I see her now,
one thing connecting
her and me, the tree,
a rope at plea.
so much pain,
must have dropped her
at insane.
She needed a friend,
everyone thought she was lame.
I wish I wasn't a tree.
I want to be like you,
able to set her free.
But I'm just a tree.
poem by Hope Bennett
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Discord in Childhood
Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips,
And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree
Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ship’s
Weird rigging in a storm shrieks hideously.
Within the house two voices arose in anger, a slender lash
Whistling delirious rage, and the dreadful sound
Of a thick lash booming and bruising, until it drowned
The other voice in a silence of blood, ’neath the noise of the ash.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Present Creature
My pain trapped from the past, sets a man made future - I bare no fur, i am a present creature - I see, i hear, i smell, the difference is the dead that tells - The whispers from the dark, with axe in hand, to a tree, i remove all the bark - Blood soaked sheets from a mare, the sun shines it is day - Skeletons in my closet, bones in my bed - Shadows crawl on my walls, i have a rose, but thorns in my head screaming with the dead.
poem by Unic Cjonr
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You Painted the Tree I'm Looking For
Your eyes are love
Their holding on to me
I need a big paper so
I can paint them alive
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
Every night I go to sleep
I want to taste your smile
So that my blood starts to boil
I fall asleep in warm dreams
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
I’m stuck here in prison
It’s really really cold
But your voice embraces me
Keeps me from my illness
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
…You painted the tree I need for living
poem by Ilme SonCries
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Jesus Died For Me
JESUS DIED FOR ME
WRITER HANK WILLIAMS
When (C)everything goes wrong And it (F)seems all hope is (C)gone I remember how my Savior (G7)died He (C)died there on the cross So this (F)world would not be (C)lost Jesus died for (G7)me long a(C)go (CHORUS) Jesus died for me long ago On a hillside far a(G7)way He was (C)tortured and slain God (F)bless His Holy (C)name Jesus died for (G7)me long a(C)go What pain He suffered there The (F)Holy One so (C)dear So that you and I could (G7)live I'll (C)try to repay For His (F)sufferin' on that (C)day Jesus died for (G7)me long a(C)go CHORUS As He hung there all alone His (F)life's blood almost (C)gone He never stopped prayin' for (G7)me So I'll (C)follow all the way And (F)live with Him some(C)day Jesus died for (G7)me long a(C)go CHORUS Jesus Died For Me
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here I am - send me
There before the beginning, 'Send me', You said
choosing to go the cross and die in my stead.
There in the garden great drops of blood you sweat
so determined to follow the pathway set.
'Father, not My will but Yours be done' You said.
Knowing all things before You still went ahead.
Carrying Your cross up Golgotha's hill You went
and there as a sacrifice Your life was spent.
For You climbed that steep hill to die in my stead.
On the cross of Calvary Your blood was shed.
Whilst hanging on that tree You took all the blame
and paid the penalty for my sinful shame.
'My God, why have You forsaken me', You cried
and then You laid down Your life for me and died.
It was for my transgressions that You hung there
and upon Your body my punishment bear.
Willingly You bore my sin and paid the price.
Willingly You gave Your life in sacrifice.
Willingly taking my infirmities
Willing bearing my iniquities.
Written after reading Hebrews 10: 7
Crying For Arab Martyrs
crying for Arab martyrs'
who have died
who are dying
because they believe
in freedom
because they believe
they others should be free
in black rose freedom
crying for Arabs
as we have cried
for others
who were prepared
to die
so others
could be free
in black rose freedom
crying because
these younger youth
have died
not just
before their rightful time
but have so young died
before older men
in black rose freedom
crying because
in this world today
it is necessary
for the ordinary
bravest best civilians
to die
so others might can be free
in black rose freedom
do not blame Arab
dictator
for civilian deaths
in Aleppo? ? ?
without Russian Chinese
political muscle flexing
merciless
backing blood would not flow
in black rose freedom
blood red black rose withers
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Because of Jesus
Because of Jesus I go free
Because He suffered there for me
Because He stayed and did not run
Because he said 'Your will be done'
My transgressions on Him were laid
Lash by lash for my debts He paid
Blow by blow for each iniquity
As they nailed Him upon the tree
Drop by dropp for each sin He bled
To wash me clean His blood was shed
Then 'Father forgive them', He cried
As He bowed down His head and died
'Death's the wages for sin', God said
That's why He hung there in my stead
Because Jesus died I now live
Because He cried 'Father forgive'
Wonderful love He's shown to me
Greater love has no man than He
That is why I now sing His praise
And to the heavens' my anthem raise
Riot, a Voice in the Fire
You voice calls out through fire
Is violence all you ever knew
What are you seeking to be heard
When the sky is lit with anger
You voices become lost in a scream
And looters steal from everyone
Without a care for the cost they inflict
This is no revolution in this town
Just a fight against your boredom
Lay down you arms and speak clear
Your voice calls out through fire
While the innocent look on afraid
Their message has been stolen
In the actions you have undertaken
I can see blood on your hands
You are free and freedom is glory
Until you abuse it for terror
What of the freedom of the innocent
What about their voice being heard
Your voice calls out through fire
I don’t even want to listen
Let it burn and pray you will burn with it
Your voice called out in fire
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Still Falls the Rain
Still falls the Rain---
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss---
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Still falls the Rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
In the Potter's Field, and the sound of the impious feet
On the Tomb:
Still falls the Rain
In the Field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.
Still falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us---
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain the sore and the gold are as one.
Still falls the Rain---
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,---those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear---
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh... the tears of the hunted hare.
Still falls the Rain---
Then--- O Ile leape up to my God: who pulles me doune---
See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world,---dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar's laurel crown.
Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man
Was once a child who among beasts has lain---
"Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee."
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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With faith you can see
Have faith that my Jesus walked this earth.
And that he was conceived and had a miraculous birth.
And by faith as we were not there to see,
You must accept that he died on a cruel tree.
With faith our mines eyes will show,
On the cross how his blood did flow.
Showing faith in the Bible God's holy Word.
As Jesus died the crowds shouts are heard.
Also by faith we have to believe,
From Satan the keys he did retrieve.
And with faith in him you shall not oppose,
That on the third day from the grave he arose.
And if you'll keep this faith until the end.
He'll return for you, just watch and see my friend!
poem by Victoria Dame
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The Holy Cross That Jesus Bore …
The Holy Cross set mankind free
From mortal sins of every kind,
When Jesus died upon this tree,
And paid price with His precious blood!
The flaying and abuses hurled
Left gashes deep upon His back,
With burning pain, no man can bear,
And yet, our living God does care!
And every time that Jesus fell
Reminds the weight of mankind’s sins
Became more than, He could carry,
Trudging His way to Calvary!
The nails we drove into His Hands
Were sins that God for man forbade;
Excruciating pain, they caused
As bones were broken with blood-spurt!
The crown of thorns were sins of mine
Like jealousy, ego and pride,
And vanity of kings futile,
That pierced His scalp and drew out blood!
Those desperate moments of Christ
As ebbing life and untold pain
Upon Him seized, were caused by sins
That we repeatedly commit.
Each dropp of bloody sweat that fell
From brow of head of Jesus Christ,
As shock and pain engulfed His mind
That witnessed ruthlessness of men!
The words of wisdom, Jesus spoke
Despite His sorrow-afilled heart
Are exemplary and so strange
Revealing love of God boundless.
The Holy Cross has set us free
From punishments for sins truly;
Repent, we must for each folly,
And enter Heaven’s life jolly!
Forgive us Lord for sins galore;
That we commit so stupidly,
Although we know that You detest
And fail so many times Your test.
O God of love and rod so stern!
We thank You for sending Your Son,
Who saved us all from fire of hell
‘Spare us, O Lord; Spare thy people! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-20-2009
poem by John Celes
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I Want To Be Free
(words & music by jerry leiber - mike stoller)
Theres no joy in my heart,
Only sorrow
And Im sad
As a man can be
I sit alone in the darkness
Of my lonely room
And this room
Is a prison to me
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
What good are my eyes,
They cant see you
And my arms,
They cant hold so tight
I have two lips
That are yearning,
But theyre no good to me
Cause I know I cant kiss you tonight
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Valley Of The Waters
In the valley of the waters we wept o'er the day
When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey,
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that died on the hill;
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hand shall teach them one tone of our skill.
All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be;
Our hands may be fetter'd--our tears still are free,
For our God and our glory--and, Sion!--Oh, thee.