Easter Cry

The crowd jeering, sweating, pressing.
The Man battered, burdened, broken

Leading the way onward - upward to the hill
Leaving behind the trail of cross on dry dusty ground.

The nails pounding, cutting, tearing
And He lifted, laughed at, loved

With tears, hot - mingled in blood
Flowed down, crimson rain forming puddles
Soon sucked by thirsty ground.

The sun brightening, blessing, warming.
The tomb still, silent, empty.

And song joyous, jubilant, infectious
Echoed by saints and angels…
“He is not here. He is risen!”