It Is Finished Poem by Anna Petrashishina

In the heat of the early morning, on the hill they called the skull.
The roaring of the angry mob, had settled to a lull.
All eyes were cast upon the man, whose hands and feet were bound.
They saw him cry in anguish when they heard the hammer pound.
They saw the bloody woven thorns with which his head was crowned.
They watched the bloody cross of wood be dropped into the ground.
The soldiers gambled for his clothes, they watched them win and loose.
They saw the sign above his head that said King of the Jews.
It is finished! And the sky grew black as the night!
It is finished! And the people scattered in fright.
The work had been done, redemption had been won.
They searched his face for anger, for vengeance in his stare.
Instead of eyes that burned with anger, a look of love was there.
He prayed for their forgiveness, and bowed his battered head.
And no-one knew the meaning of the final words he said: 'It is finished! '
The provision has been made.
The foundation has been laid.
He paid the ransom due and tore the temple veil in two.
And opened up the way for me and you.