Poetry
Once wandering a lonely fortress grey
the cold stone walls imprisoning my dreams
my panicked steps resound through narrow way
I frantic flee from fears unknown it seems
the dim grey light dispersed on pathways bare
from hidden tragedies misunderstood
through search I find a gentle solace there
I look into the crimson depths of blood
Given by one who gave up perfect life
For criminals whose sentence was but death
The blood cut through the judgments like a knife
I wash my hands and find no sin is left
But scars remain throughout eternity
In hands and feet of him who died for me.