I wince every time a nail is driven in,

even though I’m the one wielding the hammer.

 

I try to ignore the cries of the women

pleading for mercy, for the pain to stop.

 

I avert my eyes from the fear reflected

in those of the condemned, bite back the pity.

 

This one’s different. I sense no fear in him,

feel no resistance when I seize his wrists.

 

His eyes call to me. There’s a calmness in them,

an acceptance of his fate, and…forgiveness.

 

His gaze never wavers as I complete my task,

an unfamiliar lump constricting my throat.

 

I cannot explain the wetness on my cheeks

as he is hauled up, the cross fixed in place.

 

Nor can I explain the wave of love that flows

through me as he dies and the earth cracks beneath my feet.

updated by @americymru: 01/05/17 07:34:08PM