A Broken Crown

The King's face is set,

gentle and strong as an ox.

His hands bare true humility,

folded before the Father at dawn;

calloused before the lowly at dusk.

His eyes;

the kindest

to ever roam creation.

They cut deep,

piercing the deepest recesses of the heart.

His shoulders appear tame

to the the unlearned eye,

carrying what appears to be a

mere cross.

Eternal damnation,

infinite wrath,

masquerading

as a mere cross.

His face becomes a marred scarlet

beneath a crown of thorns.

Hands and feet

both hollowed

by wretched spike.

His heart is torn from losing

the Love most dear to Him;

Divine Trinity seemingly shattered

within the space between life and death.

His frame falls still.

The cries of heaven

become a thundering roar

and the earth crumbles in despair,

as all creation loses

its first Love.