Those ancient prophecies proven true:
palms nail-pinioned, skin flayed through,
ankles anchored on cruel cruciform,
king mock-crowned with braided thorns.
Sadistic suffering, lone dreadful death,
no respirator for last few breaths,
dark night of soul, sun’s eerie eclipse,
not scared he stared into dark abyss.
Evil Easter, bloody slaughter scene,
most men fled, women stayed keen;
briefly buried in short-loan vault,
his father forgave all those at fault.
Rejected forgiver, spurned his love,
pathos proffered, not boxing glove;
cynic and sceptic he refuses to rout,
daylight atheists don’t need to doubt.
His broken body lit faith’s feeble fuse,
even paper-thin faith he won’t refuse;
His blood offered holds healing power:
don’t be coward, no need to cower.
Hope-drunk hearts brim with gratitude:
God’s mercy deep, lavish in latitude;
three days pass, his kingdom comes:
blow brass loud, strike hard the drum!