Holly Vale

I hang here on this cross in this blistering heat, the searing cold. Rome caught me, punished me, flogged me, hung me. I did wrong in the eyes of man and definitely in the eyes of God.  I deserve my fate, I think as I hang here waiting. I was lifted here on this cross with no watchers, alone. My life has pushed those I love away, rightly so. Now I hang here in pain, bleeding, waiting, longing.  Longing for that last breath, for this to be over.  I can see so far from my hanging place on this hill. The crowds are coursing through the streets, up the paths. The whole time I've been up here I've not seen such a ruckus. Footsteps, yelling, screaming, jeering. This criminal must be terrible.  I get a glimpse of the figure dragging his own cross, slumped and weary.  Why are they screaming so ferociously for his death?  I see the blood that runs down his face, then see that crown upon his brow.  What savagery, what hatred and malice. Why? What has he done? The crowd keeps screaming to