Who Was This Man?

I've never claimed to be a poet, but here's an attempt to honor God on Good Friday.

The wind howls the world yells
Time has stopped and we see Him
Bloody, battered and broken
Lifeless limbs nailed to a tree

Who was this man?
What was his crime?
What have we done?
Was this God’s Son?

Barely inhaling, broken breath
Between the gasps
A cry from the heart:
“It is finished.”

Darkness and stillness invade
The earth shakes
A curtain is torn
Death’s sting has won this day

Who was this man?
What was his crime?
What have we done?
Was this God’s Son?

His mother’s cry echoes from the hill
Where are the others?
Where have they gone?
It’s as if time is standing still

No one understands, no one knows
Political expectations have gone unfulfilled
Is this the end?
Wasn’t there supposed to be more?

Who was this man?
What was his crime?
What have we done?
Was this God’s Son?

A soldier looks up, a pagan before
The followers have fled
The soldier knows, He gets it, He believes,
“Surely this man was God’s Son.”