“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”

I hang
as the crowd cries to
this Messiah,
sob at feet.

Sun dips in the west-
I don’t feel blood
fall over lips anymore.
Let it fill my mouth,
drip into ridges of
broken leg joints,
soak through bare ridden chest
over protruding ribs-

one chalice from his cabinet
and we would have lived
half a year

but all sin surfaces
and while I’ve heard
this man’s stories of eternal life,
how can I believe
in a City of Gold
when I’ve dragged my
bare feet
through streets littered
with beggars just like myself
and he was never there
to save me?

He tells me we are getting
what our deeds deserve
but that crown of thorns
is breaking his skull
and the holes in his hands
are the same size as mine.

I ask that he remembers me
in his paradise.