CROWN OF THORNS

Eons of icon confusion

Downtrodden, imperceptive delusion

Rambunctious swords, swinging for gold-the prize is rotten, stale and old.

Always swift with blood-drenched gems of ignorance

 decaying gifts,

Falsehood veiled in utopia rifts.

Spoonfed with the ambrosia of lies

Lack of perception, racing for the crown,

Yet all crowns lead to nothing, the thorns ripping into the flesh of honour, the wounds are deep and wide.

Jesus wept,

Caesar slept, blood drips from the chalice.

As we fall,

Death ‘becomes us’

One and ALL.