Over the distant hills

The sky slowly darkens as the thunder came roaring.

Heaven shed its tears, in thickness pouring,
In Golgotha, on a wooden cross, a Man was nailed.

With blood dripping from His Face, He was hailed
A King whose Head was crowned with thorns.

People danced and jeered, laughed and scorned
At a Man, one winter night, in a manger, He was born.

Thirty-three winters passed, blots of fire flashing over the hills,
Nailed to the cross for no sin, He bore neither hatred nor ill
To the multitude of people who gathered to mock His Death.

The words He uttered in His dying breath, “IT IS FINISHED.”

Shook the earth, temple walls and curtains torn.

Beneath the cross, sat His Mother, in agony, She mourned.

With the tempest ceaselessly pounding the sunless skies Echoing the sound of thousand drums with fearful cries.

The crowd wailed, beat their breasts in pain and utter despair.

Some went insane, rolling, howling and tearing their hair.

Those who stoned Him, cowered with shame, shivered in fear.

The faithful, who loved Him, on bended knees, shed their tears.

The high priests who condemned Him reached insanity
When they crucified a Man conceived in holy purity.

The dead Man was lowered from the cross and laid on the ground.

A centurion, armed with a spear, came up to Him without a sound.

He pierced the side of His body, and saw His Glory
When Blood and Water came gushing out from His Body.

For he knew “THE MAN ON THE WOODEN CROSS” was already dead.

In sorrow and remorse, he held his spear high above his head.

Crying out aloud, he threw his spear and all that he got.

Looking at Jesus lying on the ground, he sadly proclaimed,
“Truly, this Man was a Son of God.”

A declaration well said.

Maurice Oh
Singapore

This poem was submitted by Selena Oh on behalf of her late father, Maurice.

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