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The Hammer and Nail
by Pat Hood
The whip of leather was braided and hard
Drawing blood from the flesh on the back that it marred
With stripes as they scourged the offending one
While words in his defense there were heard none.
The crown of thorns had been shaped from the vine
And pressed hard to his head to be worn as a sign
Of the kingdom he claimed that would be his above
A kingdom built not of hate but of love.
The thief in the prison was angry and crazed
And the choice of the people left the court amazed
That they should choose to release this vile one
And kill him who claimed to be God's own son.
The basin of water could not wash away
The sin of the court that could not say
Even one word against the one meant to die
But taunted that he should beg help from on high.
The crowd lined the streets that led to the hill
Where two others walked, against their will
Bearing the crosses that were proof of their guilt
In the eyes of the court who had ordered them built.
The ground that they trod was hardened and cold
Worn bare by the feet that had walked it of old
On their way up the hill, up to Calvary's peak
To the holes in the ground, to the place they did seek.
The hammer and nails had been forged from the ore
That lay cold in the ground for centuries before
They awoke with a clang when the nail was hit
By the hammer held tight in the soldier's fist.
With the hammer and nail were the pieces of wood
That came from the tree that once had stood
Upon a high mountain or beside the shore
Bathed in the Light from the sun that bore
Down on the land that suffered so long
In the grip of the ones who had been so strong.
They had claimed the land as their own domain
Where their power had spread like the falling rain.
Little they knew they were just part of a plan
To climb up the hill and to kill a man.
The two who were with him did argue and plead
As the hyssop and vinegar were raised on the reed.
His robes were divided amongst the men
As they considered what they could do next to him.
The sign at his head proclaimed him as king
Though the people, who just days before did sing
'Hosanna' now ignored this man on the tree
And pretended no knowledge that it was He
Who would die for them in anguish and sorrow
That the kingdom should come on some bright morrow.
The spear sank deep into the side
Of the praying one, and then he died.
The curtain was torn and a storm filled the air
As the sins of the world were his alone to bear
To his Father, the Creator, To the Great I Am,
The One who had devised the Master Plan.
The hammer, the nail, the pieces of wood,
Had no guilt as on Calvary's hill they stood.
It was me, it was you, it was part of His plan
That we should all climb this hill and kill this man.
©2004 Pat Hood
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