Golgotha: Place of Skulls

Who knew that this heart of mine,
withered and wracked as it is
could still bleed
streaming love?
With shallow gasps and stuttering gait,
but alive (all the same)
who knew that she could wake,
or would,
submerged in viscous misery (as she was)?

We breach the choppy grey.
Has the Sun always shone
so crimson?
Has the sky always stabbed
so starkly;
azure blade upon blade dashing

across the waves.

We drift towards the horizon (my old friend and I),
clinging to each other,
buoyed only by the air that we scramble from the world.
You don’t look well.
Wispy - I can almost see the black behind you,
but with your ever-weakening grip dig
into my hollow chest my friend;
don’t let go.
I would not brave this world without you,
these malevolent waters (murky, rabid forces)
don’t let go.

Land ahoy!
It hangs in the sky, nudged back and forth by wind, swinging from heaven-held noose,
hold on to me;
death comes
and we must present ourselves
with bent back, on blackened knees;
oh what a happy day indeed.

On soot-gilded cross I will preside
(Forgive them - they are weak to their pride)
and rule over ever-shifting grey mass
and in its eyes I see
a dead man with weeping chest -

who is He?