Once full with joy and life,

Formed from delicate skin to pits of thorns,

Turned towards the light shaken up and torn,

Piece by piece blown by wind to different states,

Judging for sin it awaits.

Alone with a faint shadow,

Thinking back to the days when life was worth living,

With every last prick of thy soul forgiving,

Not turning thy cheek, but forgiving every season for breaking thy flesh down,

Withered and hopeless with spikes on thy crown.

Spikes on thy crown and through thy body,

Desiccated and tumbling along,

Around earth for so long without a clue of where it belongs,

The dust from thy life dripping like sand through an hourglass,

So much more to experience now dwelling on the past.