That Hill

jesus cloak

I charge that Hill

With bent of keen observer

I hear the jeers

And the brutish Roman steel

Not a voice

Evident in clear distinction

Save for His

Briefly seen to help and heal.

And He pans

The sea of faces

Here to ogle

And He swears

The thief beside will soon find rest

And He smiles

His Mother’s moans

The saddest send-off

Hardly notes

The priestly barbs

Brought here to test.

I am ice

Cold unrelenting

Void of mercy

Til He shouts

The strangest claim

I ever heard

‘It is finished”

Like a runner’s cry of victory

Gives His last

And I quake

And kneel before my Lord.





2 thoughts on “That Hill

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