Passion

A body so light, it floatedacross wind-whipped wavesand did not sink. So full of life,it survived empty forty days,no wheat for nights.A blindingly pure,its hands purified other bodies.This drew the first sunrise,still wept at a friend's last breath.This light was floggedand trapped and displayed.Had life squeezed out throughstripes. Suffered bruises andis still scarred from woundsso I could be sanctified.