For the first time, I was conscious.
Enough to feel the blade in my hand.
It was soaked with blood.
I loosened my hold on the blue, leather grip,
Stood there as red dripped and streamed.
I found Your back to me,
Covered in red like a lion had mangled you.
I saw so many scratches and gashes.
When I realized what I had done,
Lines of ripped skin from shoulder to shoulder -
Kidney to kidney -
Punctures so thick, my hand could peel You open,
Squirting streams of blood into my face.
Symbols had been carved into Your flesh.
As I looked at Your ravaged body,
All my actions came back to memory.
I wanted to humiliate You.
Every swing of the blade, every stab wound,
I did this to You.
Now You're hunched over,
Bleeding so much You'll die.
But You don't fight,
You don't resist.
Turn back and hit me!
Swing Your wrath down on me!
Even now the knife digs into You.
You have every right.
The crowd boos.
Trash is thrown at me.
They want me to continue.
But Lord, I don't want to hurt You.
I've done enough!
Please... Please get back up...
As the tomatoes and lettuces become stones,
I cower away.
Then, You rise,
So massive in size, You blot out the sky.
You cover me like a grown man covering a baby,
And You take even more pain.
The stones slam hard into You,
But You neither flinch nor tremble.
You just hunch over me,
And take the beating...
Blood continuing its track,
Pouring out of Your body onto me.
From the top of my head down to my feet,
You protect me, though I helped do this to You.
And as the crowd boos at my sympathy for You,
You hold me down and protect me.
I, who was once Your enemy,
Now only protected by the blood of my King.
The stones will keep flying,
But for some reason, You won't let them hit me.
What did I do to deserve this?