Even the gods cried,
And Immortals laid weak,
The Sun turned its face away in agony,
As the heavens gave way for pain.
Life laid dead in its sleep,
As hope sat ashamed in the dark,
Peace was stolen, redemption was kidnapped,
As all flesh withered before a scorching judgement.
Who is he to think he could walk free,
Or to say she was never here,
For not until grace and love walked in,
Even the very gods were never free.
Guilt was accounted to every life,
The puff of each breathe was laced with a double dose of treason,
For even the souls of gods and mortals had committed The Offence,
And death, only, was the price befitting, nothing else.
But a gift was given,
Though unrequested by any, yet desired by many,
For while life sat in a catacomb of confusion and despair at the far corner in the dark,
The gift bore the name of mercy and grace.
And with its light, life received life,
And bones glee at its sight,
For while gods and men rejoiced in its presence,
A life was shed in their stead.