The Chanting
The chanting, chanting
Louder and louder
All about His hanging
As His sweat dripped
People tripped
But the chanting didn’t cease
His bare feet bloodied
As He carried his death
Up that steep, unforgiving hill
A Man of God
Determined
Determined, to beat Satin
Once and for all
When He arrived
His respect was deprived
And they plowed his death post into the ground
His clothes were torn
As His mother mourned
For the fate of her Holy son
Yet the chanting never stilled
His clothes were gambled
His dignity trampled
And yet one last time
The question was asked
The people started to chant
“Crucify Him! Crucify Him!”
And the chanting never concluded
Then atop His head was placed a crown
Not of gold
Not of jewels
But of a plant easily found
Thorns
And yet, the chanting never ended
His place was mocked
As the time clocked
They gave Him sour wine
And as He drank
The stuff that stank
The chanting never stopped
His right hand pierced
With rusty nail
As well as His left
Meant to make His body flail
And yet He stayed still
Calm and collected
And still the chanting seemed not affected
Next His feet
Once washed by many
Of those chanting in the huge crowd
His people
His Father’s
Our God’s
A spear was drawn
And thrown into his side
He didn’t flinch
Not even an inch
As the chanting grew
The spear was twisted, jabbed and jerked
All while in his side
While the few wept
Staying right beside
He hung there
Blood dripping
Clock ticking
Finally sundown came
And with one last cry
Before He closed his eyes
Just before he died
“Oh Father! Why have you forsaken me?”
And as the silence grew
The deed was done
The deed, for me and you
