The thorns pierce
deep within the heart
hurt upon hurt
cut under cut
incision.
Helpless and weak
drops of blood
dance down your face
your crimson anguish.
My sin He bears
my ridicule
under the weight of condemnation.
The path you walk
into forsaken despair
in your surrender
towards the cross
self-offering.
With nothing to claim
to suffer the nails
imprinted love
deep within the heart
to embrace the thorns.
Life From A Park Bench 