i read this book a long time ago... i think i will re-visit it again soon...
this is just a little bit from the book
'The diadem of pain
which sliced your gentle face,
three spikes piercing flesh and wood
to hold you in your place.
The need for blood i understand.
Your sacrifice i embrace.
But the bitter sponge, the cutting spear,
the spit upon your face?
Did it have to be a cross?
Did not a kinder death exist
than six hours hanging between life and death,
all spurred by a betrayers kiss?
"Oh, Father", you pose,
heart stilled at what could be,
"Im sorry to ask, but i long to know,
did you do this for me?"'
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