The white ball of fire
Set the desolate land ablaze
Sweat trickling down
He walked the crowded maze
Streets stood empty
Shops, deserted
Men in robes evinced no pity
As he struggled to make the last mile
Scorching afternoon air
Cut into his wounds
A mother screamed, “Unfair!”
While the ground beneath moaned.
Cruel judgment
A trusted friend’s treachery
Powers of firmament
Indeed, stood all in diabolic conspiracy
Thorns for a crown
Nails instead of king’s rings
He took the shame
Never dodging scourges that sting
Finally, when he finished life’s journey
On Golgotha, he hung on a tree
Laying the course for destiny
That would see vilest of sinners free
Indeed. His death was not defeat but victory
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