Good But Bad Friday. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The science of His death, a painful key,
Nails in wrists, not palms, anatomy.
A tendon torn, each breath a fight,
Back and legs, against the failing light.

Blood drained out, no crimson flow,
But water wept from wounds below.
Three hours hung, a body strained,
For sins of all, redemption gained.

No magic here, but physics grim,
The limits pushed, life fading dim.
A broken body, torture's art,
To tear apart, and break the heart.

The volume lost, the body bare,
A final breath upon the air.
Science explains what He went through,
A sacrifice, for me and you.