Crucified

The hands that healed a leper's rotting sores
with a gentle caress now bleed, impaled
on wood by rusted nails; scarlet drops pour
down the dust from him, once Messiah hailed.
The voice that hushed storms with a single word
now quivers like a shaking reed, his groan
of wretched agony ignored, unheard
by the jeering crowd he once called his own.
The gaze that thawed a harlot's frigid soul
with a love all-consuming, now stoops down
beneath the curse of wrath divine, the cold
wind whips his wounded face, his thorned crown.
His sacrifice, as of a spotless lamb,
shines forth, the living hope of sinners damned.