Cross on his
back,
His body,
beaten black,
Pierced with
sword,
Yet he says
no words.
Blood and
water
From his
side
Yet he
sighed
His clothes,
they tried
To divide.
He screamed
from the pain
So to be
safe, they hit him again
Trembling he
shook
The people
gave him a cruel look
I could hear
his mother cry
Why!!!
He’s too
young to die’
He saw her
and managed a smile
Just a
little while
He muttered
under his breath
Confident in
the face of death
I saw the
people he feed
With that
his sweet bread
And now
Thorns on
his head
How is he
not dead?
Naked to the
cross
For, and
because of us
Crucified by
his own
There he
hung alone
But soon
he’ll be on the throne
Battered,
Bruised and Beautiful.
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