Blood flows like a river from your side,
Your human body was always too weak.
Yet the pain that it’s causing is agonizingly real,
Another wave every time that you speak.
Yet you do nothing.
Thorns pierce through the skin on your head,
All you hear is their mockery and threats.
Your eyelids are drooping, your head hung low,
Yet still you have no regrets.
So you do nothing.
Your arms are now aching, worse than before,
And your vision is blurred by your tears.
But you know that this suffering will come to an end,
So you cast away your worries and fears.
And you do nothing.
Below you they’re hooked by the numbers on a dice,
Gambling away your pride.
You’re left on top of a hill – entertainment for all,
And there’s nowhere to run to and hide.
Still you do nothing.
The seconds become minutes, which drag into hours,
And you long for an end to your pain.
But there’s no one to help you, no one at all,
So in the open you must remain.
You do nothing.
Your name is Jesus, King ofthe Jews,
Saviour of those who failed to save you.
And so you die, on a cross made of hate,
To be with God and unlock heaven’s gates.
By Mia Griso Dryer
April 2015