Latin for Way of Suffering, it is grief in any language:
we walk paths of gold, foreign
streets bloodied by another's footprints
(match feet, step precisely)
and covet another's crown (thorns),
stumble thrice under our rough-hewn
cross and covet another's life (death)
because only the One walked this Way
sees truly, sees verily, tells the same, says:
          Blessed are you if you not stray
          for if you look around or behind or
          ahead comes the fall. Beloved,
          stay in my bloodfeet, walk lowly
          in my shadow ground, know nothing
          before, behind, around, so
          the gold sticks fast to your soles
          and thorny the load you rebuke
          leads you bowed down up to eternal
          souls, up to a crown.