'The Pieta'

a mother is handed her child
lying bloodied in the hay
she knows He is not really hers,
only born to be taken away

she knows the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby
but a sacrifice,
she knows His blood shall be spilt,
His body sanctified

He was born amongst other animals
whose blood will one day be spilt
in the name of what demands it,
for His kingdom to be built

thirty three years later
on this very day
He was taken from her,
her son born in the hay

they cried and spit
as He walked onto the stage
she pleaded with the crowd
that He should be saved

He was broken and beaten
whilst wearing His crown
carrying what would kill Him
all through the town

as He was nailed,
the scarlet running thick
she begged and cried to God
that His death may be quick

on the third day the sky darkens,
she knows it has been done
He has been sacrificed,
her holy saviour and only son

she cries out to her Lord
as her soul splits in two,
knowing that a grave
sits in place of her womb

her sorrow is now captured
by a statue in Rome –

do you think Jesus smelt the wood of the cross
and, for a moment, thought of home