His Royal View

High on a hill, such vantage.
A commanding view
  were it to be seen.
        
A cooling breeze.
   were it to be felt,
    were it to be breathed
     were it not for gravity-yanks
      and voltage-surged nerves.

Yet through eye-filled blood cakes.
  he saw your tears.
Through the roar of the crowd
  he heard your adoration.
Amidst the weight of the world
  he bore your burden.
And against all odds.
  He lifted your sins.

A soldier from his knees proclaimed,
  “Surely this was the Son of God.”
                               G. Yeatman