As I pick up mine burdened cross, mine brow's art heavied by the mockery of the crowd. Mine head shaved to maketh me feeleth belittled, the drizzle of pain down mine vessel, comes pouring all down... The ruler's art all around, as the pharisees laugh, they spit upon mine smiling lips, and whip me with unused glass. As they spike me they heareth mine screams, dancing to the scene. I close mine eyes, and pray to god, forgiveth them of their deeds. As I knoweth mine water shalt soon depart, I shalt uplift to the mansion grove....... I yell back at the crowd..... Expect to see mine ghost... As they see mine ghost, it knoweth not much longer shalt they maketh a travesty of me. I spill mine gut's upon the wood, on the old juniper tree......... As when mine spirit left me, mine own mother sat there because they made her watch, as mine soul left mine carrion, their temple's rent ripped into shock....
And the Pharisees, tis they didst see, the son they hath killed, was one not of this world, now their sin's shalt they feel...


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry...