Fragile broken beings, trailing a leader to the source. He claims he knows where restoration is...better yet, he turns and faces us with a gentle smile temporarily stilling our thirsts. He says, rather unbelievably, that He...yes He is the source.

Our look of bewilderment undergird our unbelief as we stay motionless contemplating the possibility of ecstasy so free. He opens up His palms and lets us see the endless flow of our desired flavor; red thick viscous blood. Our vampire souls tear across our chests and though we held onto our broken lives for too long, today we know that our destinies lay in sucking and we would become as infant babes.

So with the last bit of life left in us, we drag our beaten up bag of bones drowsily and fall at His feet. As our knees shake the earth beneath us, we wonder if our heads will splatter on the hard rocks we've been accustomed to tilling. But no! He stretches forth his fountain piercings and bliss is enacted as our desperate teeth pierce through his nail stricken veins and we suck with our last breaths the one thing that would give us life.

He smiles with an air of satisfaction, for this was the reason he came down to us. As we look up with tears of gratitude clouding our now clear visioned eyes, he wipes off the drops of blood on our lips and urges us to stand up straight. And as we search ourselves, we understand. That we no longer have to draw from Him as we have tasted of a one-off dish never to be devoured again. As we feel the blood of this Man run through our system, all guilt and sin become paled and obliterated as He reminds us we are now like Him...we are now gods.

But the glorying must be delayed as the power within us pours a responsibility upon us. For though our souls crave a permanent uniting with our King and though we yearn to walk side by side with Him, we turn our eyes to the rest of our brothers meandering across the suburbs and cities, hinterlands and settlements draped in dazzling attires or rugged clothes; in flashy cars or bicycles, dwelling in skyscrapers or underneath bridges. Our clear visioned eyes see them with fresh perspective, for we have known their thirst and we know the cure. So we turn to bid our master to permit us to tarry a while, but we realize that this was his plan all along and He remains with us to see the job through.

Now, we stand by the roadsides, with gramophones and keyboards, in the market places and bus stops, virtually or by word of mouth. We scream, implore, entreat, plead, beg and refused to be silenced. We have tasted of a heavenly glass and we beckon on the living dead to come taste of this. We are mocked at, derided for breaking out from the norm, the trapped claim to be free and the chained point and mock at the freedom we have received, they so blindly see as shackles. We fend off persecution and hatred, our pain only bested by a desire to see freedom reign in our ethos. To see the walking pile of bones become a mighty army for the Lord.

For we know your emptiness. We've walked your shoes.

We are the Christians. We are the Zombies Reborn.