On Calvary Hill
I awoke in the morning to a different world
From the world I'd left, they'd find it absurd
To alls past acclaim, on Calvary Hill
It was not he who bled, but a woman's spill
She, the daughter, of a long loved king
To him now lost, what does his tomorrow bring
Naked to bare, cast amongst others
Was it so bad that she now smothers
Crowned of thorns, sorrow postured be
Never should ones icons, be as we see
In any world that this event was undertaken
No matter the cause, believed, now forsaken
Yet nothing was indifferent it was the same old nails
That held her to post, yet the same people wailed
Days turned to decades, centuries now having past
Then I awoke the next day, not even aghast
.
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