Poetry / What It Must Have Felt Like

Tired of walking, tired of pain

Still with the torture, wait to be slain

Thorns on my brow,

Crown of the dead,

Wait to be back with my father again

Walk to my death, up the stone path

Beaten and stabbed by my enemies staff

Jeers from the crowd

Calling my name

Father, for talking i brought forth their wrath!

Coming so closer, nails to me soon

Others are smiling, awaiting my doom

Tired, so tired

Fall to the ground

Pushed to my knees where the cross shadows loom

Painfully nailed to the cross where i’ll die

Killed for your sins without asking why

Holes in my hands

Hols in my feet

Slowly my bloody head turns to the sky

“Father, why have you forsaken me so?”

I cry in the moment, but the answer i know

My head has dropped down

My last breath escapes

I’ve died on the cross, painfully slow

They soon take my body to be buried at last

Yet when women come, they find out i’m gone

I’ve risen, I’ve risen, I’ve risen indeed!

And so is my story, The Son of God

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