Every thought of Him
An act of worship.
Every look upon
That unseen face
A study of calm
Compassion and courage.
The face marred more
Than any man’s,
Taking barbs
And spittle in the streets.
Pressing onward
To Destiny’s Hill.
Dreading it.
Loving it.

The Mission finished
By noblest act of will.
A Father pleased
Though forced to look away
That death might pay
For every trespass
Ever done.
It’s dark, but
Soon the rising
Of the Son.
My Hero.


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