Christ, Our King.
His blood, violently dripped and splattered throughout Jerusalem, like a priest of old, sprinkling the blood of a lamb and pouring it at the foot of the altar (Lev 5:17-18).
His blood, bathed His body in a crimson sweat, pooling and trickling down His Holy Face as He wept to His Father, ‘not my will, but yours be done.’
His blood, whipped and ripped, chunks of flesh torn from the True Manna sent down from heaven.
His blood, ruby rivulets spilling across His Kingly Countenance, pricked and pressed by a crown of sacrificial glory.
His blood, clotted and matted with a royal robe to feign at His Heavenly Brilliance, stripped and torn away causing His Skin to drip anew.
His blood, smeared upon the wood of the cross, Our Lord, struggling to carry not its weight, but the sins of all generations, our sins, bearing down upon His soul.
His blood, slapped onto the parched ground, thirsting as our souls, a dry and weary land without water.
His blood, wiped humbly from His Princely Complexion to leave a lasting imprint of His Holy Image.
His blood, pressed upon the lips of His sorrowful mother, a last kiss stolen before death.
His blood, spurting with each blow of the mallet, driving nails into His Holy Hands and Venerable Feet.
His blood, sputtered up His throat as He gasped for breath, straining to breathe against His Collapsing Chest, each word a feat of Godly strength and will.
His blood, dying.
His Most Sacred Heart, pierced.
His Most Precious Blood, spilling out upon the foot of the cross with the Cleansing Waters (Lev 16:4) of new life for all mankind.
Our blood, dying.
Our soul, rising to Christ Our King.