Kyrielle
by beighartman
I stare at empty hills sometimes
Bumped backs arch to be climbed
Like huge scales that remain unshorn
And on his crown are many thorns
I gaze into the graying eve
Earth’s clouds all gathering to grieve
A man naked as he was born
And on his crown are many thorns
I watch huddled mourners weeping
The last wrath of hatred’s reaping
A tattered corpse that hangs forlorn
And on his crown are many thorns
I see a cross where Jesus bled
The sun drowning behind his head
His outspread arms cursed with scorn
And on his crown are many thorns
