Born into the clutches of a relentless state, that needs yet nurtures not, a life

that never betrayed. Wanting so to please the hand that pierced the flesh of a

son, who took up willingly a shape of hope, and in return his trials were not condoned.
 [bad word] 
Scarring lashes wound so deep

And giving passage to tortured sleep

Nesting where our roots must grow

And leaving our blood in the vast unknown

Staring up at the one who punished for a cause that held no weight, a sentence cast

down to shun a helpless face. Amused by your senseless acts for relief, and yet was

willing to give all that I have for the sake of what’s still yet [bad word]  but never will.