The Rite of Passage

Stones so rotten, clothed in moss, slipping from their concaves

Lathered in the muck and muddy water, the darkness a ruse

My screams bounce off the bend as I bang and I bruise

He let down a rope woven in thorns and reason

That all suffering stems from the decay of seeds unsewn

The piercing of my skin washed and adorned

With the blood that seeps from my wounds made clean

For His lashed and battered flesh from His back team most bare

Abetting closer to the breach of comfort by His all-knowing care

To above all bind my sin with the whips and chains He beared and abided

So to free us all from the stare of the mire -

To free us all from the burn of hellfire.