He Wished He Was Jesus, Just For Her.

By Philemon Adjekuko

He sat by her bed and with his head bowed sobbed without a word;
Bacause you don’t hear “sorry” from me any more, you think I habour no care;

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Only heaven knows the weight in my heart as I bear the agony of the ailments that feast on your body;
Your nightly mourns sting my ears like the spines of a cactus.

Each day I lose a pint of my life
as I watch you drain.
I know not much is left of you
But not much is left of me either;

Yet, Impossible does not reside in him who died for you and me.

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I wish I was Jesus even If just for you;

But if you lay down your soul in deference to the adder of death;
Take one last look behind, if you can;
The one in the shadow is no other but me;

No, I am not dying with you
You have died off what ails you
And I am coming to take you home;
Home to the feet of Jesus
Who redeemed You for me
to live in the life to come
Where pain and death
Will be unheard of, My Darling.

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