“Worshipping”

pale and weary
the Soul of souls poled forth the
culmination of his life
as he ascended the hill

a splinting cross
clutched upon his bleeding shoulder;
and an assemblage of sneering voices;
exultations of ridicule
and vinegar’s drill

down near his sandal-less feet
my tiny soul kneels at the Sacrifice
and under the sanctuary
of his ransom I am lifted
from the grave’s chill!