Poetry

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They don’t believe
They don’t understand
They are threatened
They want him to die

Red blood trickled down
Bruised and battered face swells
Beaten until numb
Pain no longer possible to feel

Whipped until there is no skin
They cheer and laugh
Mock and clap
Insults, spits, and pushes from strangers
The crowd cheers them on

They make him carry his own cross upon his bloodied back
What was his skin is just a map of red
A map of sin to come and sin from the past

His blood spills on the streets
In large splattered drops
His lips crack and bleed, water, water please

Thinking only of those he will save
Thinking only of others
Doing what his father bids

The clouds roll upon the hill
They lay him upon the cross
They extend the sledge hammer upon their shoulder
They bring it down with a loud cling

Blood splatters upon the soldiers face
The grunt of our savior
The next swing comes down with a cling
The grunts are low and soul wrenching
They’ve nailed him to the cross

His bones broken
His skin parted
More blood spilled

How much blood
How much blood is enough to cover your sin
How much pain for him to endure before we all see what he did for us

Risen from the dead
Celebrate what he’s done
Celebrate Easter

Don’t just color your eggs and hid them
He died and rose again for you and me

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