I nudged my way through the crowd,
I heard men and women shout aloud.
“Jesus!”

I stretched my neck as I stood on my tiptoes.
Another shout arose.
“Which one will you choose?
Barabbas, or Jesus, king of the Jews?”
The roar of Barabbas’s name filled the air,
The badly-beaten Jesus, just stood there.
The Roman soldiers took Him away,
The people had made their choice; there was nothing else to say.
At the site where He was crucified,
His followers hung their heads and cried.

A long steel nail was placed on His hand,
The soldier drove it in, upon command.
A tall man blocked my view,
As the crowd pushed their way through.
The soldiers hoist the large cross; it fell into a hole in the ground,
It created a thump of a sound.
Blood ran into His eyes, just as
He looked up at the sky.
He called on His father with authority.
He looked down at His mother, Mary.

“It is finished,” He said.
The next minute, He was dead.
A travailing of cries echoed the air,
The soldiers gambled for His robe without a care.

I pushed my way through.
A man stopped me and asked, “Are you a Jew?”
I pulled away, and said,
“Please, please, I have to see this man who died on Calvary!”
I looked upon Him, so frail and drawn.
I whispered, “Is He really gone?”
I heard a hallow voice say to me, “I died for you so that you might be free.”
© 2008. By, Evelyn O. Simon
All rights reserved.