His heart raced when it was only few hours away.
Crouching from the burden of agony, He groaned from the reality of being left alone.
On the platter of negotiating the desire of having the cup passed, He was strengthened by one who excelled in strength.
Rising up from the hollow ground dug by His sweat's claws, He moved as one whose loins have been girded with compassion; putting on the amour of sacrifice.
So much a burden, His Trade materials: the hammer, the nails, and the log; impressed on Him as He journeyed the distant hills of SKULLS to Death's residence.
His white wool; skinned from numerous stripes,
His gentle head; pierced with thorny crown,
His tender limbs; nailed to the log, yet; His soft voice spoke no guile but in despair, saying 'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do'.
Murdered by His trade, the Lamb of God is raised; seated at the right hand of His Loving Father gaining many sons unto glory.
Now I can gladly say.... 'it is finished'.
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