Empty

A glass,

The remnants of what it contained

Clinging to the sides, 

The bottom.

You cast off the glory of Heaven,

Yet people could see traces of it in you.

Echoes of eternity

Held in one man.

They wanted to make you royalty.

To scrape out that kingly quality

That they glimpsed at in you,

And force it into a crown.

Something that fit their vision

Of what their savior should be.

But you withdrew,

Waiting for the time

When you would empty yourself further.

Empty of your blood,

Your sweat,

Your life.

So that one day,

This stained, chipped, dirty glass

Could be filled.