Crucified Saint
Crucified Saint
Slowly, he marched to the graveWith bangles of Shames
Burden of thorns
Stripes of wound, and tears,
In the chants of a crucifix
Unknown born of lonely virgin
Seeking to fulfill that last course
A mission assigns to the condemned
Faceless and unrecoverable sinner.
Cross too large to be held,
Heavy and strongs that drags.
Yet, he kept on strolling;
"Keep going" is what he says,
The work is yet to be over
Uncalled priest chosen on choice,
With total conformation, he's made.
"Mother, behold thy child,"
This lost child has lost his identity.
Condemned by one who made all,
Yet, he seeks, "child, behold thy mother"
She has lost a gem,
But has given the world a Saint.
With nails as large as the Big Ben, piercing that feeble bones,
Inching deeper and deeper
Groaning in pain, he murmured
"It is finished."
The murmuring never got louder,
But the bloods flows wider
Pouring aimlessly
Darking all edges, filling all soul.
The strife is over,
and now the Victory
The victory
Yes, the victory
the God man
fought on that demeaning cross
Tattooed by the whips
Toasted by the darkness of death
Has been won, and now it is finished!
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