Crucified Saint

Christ paid a sacrifice on the cross of calvary, this day, many years ago that the world might be free from the shackles of sin. He was betrayed, rejected and abandoned just so that our victory might be won. He has finished it. Thus, the poetry celebrates and mourn with the burden of his death.

Crucified Saint 

Slowly, he marched to the grave 

With 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"

Read Alone by Maya Angelou 

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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