The Perfect Martyr


I, the student, seized on a night of cold,

Booked and found guilty, for reasons unknown.

Immediately, my freedom was sold,

Despite my friends' pleas, I was all alone.


Later, while I was brutally tested,

At what turned out to be a cruel trial,

My rivals relentlessly contested.

Afterwards, above me was a trash pile.


All the Court's jury wished for my demise,

I had a desire to be justified,

Without a word, the truth shone in His eyes.

With my death sentence, He was crucified.


Ironically, when all was at an end,

From death, my Perfect Martyr did ascend.

Poetry Slam: 


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