I did not write this poem. I wait, And time ticks past. I gaze, Made silent by the sight. I watch, As soldiers meticulously move Executing each terrible, torturous task. I gasp, Still life lingers in His fragile, broken form. I flinch, As blow by blow, Nails bite deep through flesh to find wood. I stand As He is lifted high, Silhouetted ‘against the sky which He has made. I weep As His cry echoes deep in my hardened, calloused heart. I wail, As He screams ‘it is complete, Finished, final, said and done.’ I fall, As the sky turns inky black And the sun and moon and stars forget to shine. I kneel, As worlds collide, And time ticks by; What once bound, no longer seems to hold. I bow, For part of me is gone, Kept forever on Calvary’s painful peak. I wait, At the foot of the cross, to begin my journey home.