The Color of Blood

Scarlet streaks run across his back,
Skin breaks as the whip cracks,
Torn flesh and flecks of blood.
Blood runs down,
From the crown of thorns,
His face beaded with blood.

A red hue takes over
The footsteps of blistered feet.
The print of bloodied sandals
The Way of Suffering
Is marked with his blood.

The hill too is marked,
Not with his dark bloodstain
But that of others loss.
Bruised and beaten,
He too stains the hill.

Nails pierce his hands and feet.
More bloodshed all can see.
The spear opens his side,
The head made scarlet.
His crimson soaked tree is stained,
Stained the color of blood.

His blood, the blood he gave,
And relinquished his spirit
With the color of blood.