The Curse of Thorns

The Curse of Thorns

The crown of thorns that

 Crowns his saintly head

Thrust on tight so much

 Pain and blood is shed.

 Pinned to a cross by feet

 And hands by rusting nails

Skin, flesh and bone.”Mercy”

The crowd do cry, to no avail.

Left to die on that wooden cross

For sins of human kind, long forgot

Father, he cries, they no not what they do

But his father God almighty

 Curses all of you.

You murdered his child, his only Son

And is making you pay

Each and every one.

A pox on your souls till the end of time

With wars and famine and mothers

 Who weep for Sons who are butchered

By sick human freaks....

Cameron, Clegg to name but two

The Devil will welcome

Both of you........

So it is said, so it is done

Peter Wicks