I don't usually use rhyme, but this time... well, it just sort of came out this way. So please comment, even if you think it's no good!
Beads of sweat run down his face
Mixed with glistening drops of blood
On his back, searing scars of grace
His unwashed feet are caked with mud
Upon his head, a crown of thorns
He's scorned by the merciless crowd
Many to mock him, few to mourn
Though the heavens themselves bow down
And as he hangs there, near to death
It's his fate by choice alone
Who's face does he see, at his final breath?
None other than your own
Beads of sweat run down his face
Mixed with glistening drops of blood
On his back, searing scars of grace
His unwashed feet are caked with mud
Upon his head, a crown of thorns
He's scorned by the merciless crowd
Many to mock him, few to mourn
Though the heavens themselves bow down
And as he hangs there, near to death
It's his fate by choice alone
Who's face does he see, at his final breath?
None other than your own
