The Glory of the Passion

The earth thundered with the glory of the King.

The palm branches cried for joy as they were strewn at His feet.

The sun could not bear to watch Him bleed

As the veil tore in two while His Spirit descended.

The wood of the tree wept as His Blood seeped into its cracks,

Elevating Him amid the thunder of the wind.

The stones which dug into His feet were grateful

Just to feel His touch as He left droplets of His Love behind,

Forever melded into the dust to which we all shall return.

While humanity forsook and spat upon Him,

The mountains bowed in reverence

As He staggered up their jagged slopes.

The earth, though parched and dry,

Was quenched by the sweat glistening on His brow.

O blessed thorns which embraced the King

And showed us the true meaning of regality,

How could you have known,

Stripped from the roses that once gave you beauty,

That you would be made even more beautiful

After your breaking?