Driven into the wood
Only now do I wince
and externally cry.
If only there was some way to escape this,
Surely there must be.
The One who did this first
did it just for me.
My nails press down into my flesh,
piercing without bloodflow.
Suddenly it is over
and I can finally go.
We see that I can once again walk.
But it doesn’t come easy, for still I am like a stalk.
Shucked without mercy, my hands I see,
are still one with the nails
that tore right through me.
The wood is a heavy burden on my chest
Forcing me to heave with never a rest.
How can this be, oh great teacher?
Please give an answer
to this small beseecher.