He could scarce take a breath
as blood and sweat rolled down
from thorn embedded crown.
Short staccato breathing in between
tremors that rocked the full weight
of a body splayed against splintered and
freshly hewn tree.
The broken body, unable to match
the broken heart that it contained.
How it slowed, became slower,
labored, and tried...impossibly,
to continue beating for the beaten and
anguished man that it had been so strong for
up until today.
He did not die from external wounds.
It was the broken heart that made
his body finally succomb to it’s last
seconds of life.
The tragedy, overwhelming.
The triumph, not easily seen.
The man who came for this moment,
would do just as He had said.
An agony too great to bear
upon a life fashioned to carry it through
to the end.
A fairy tale, some say.
A wretched path to travel
for a faith that most dispel,
or view with rabid disdain.
And yet, He knew it would come to this.
That “fairy tale” believers would continue
to live their made up lives, while the truth of
eternity hung on a tree.
"Choose you, this day, whom you will serve...
as for me and my house, we
will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15
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