The Crux of Creation
Israel’s such a tiny sliver of the earth
So overlookable from high above
Where tears can co-exist with mirth
Embattled, yet home to purest Love.
One dark Friday they called Good
Found the One whose voice created it
Cursed, condemned and nailed to wood
Horribly wronged, this doesn’t fit.
Angry jeers from a frothing mob
A rugged hill where man stooped low
Stripped of dignity they sought to rob
He hung for you, friend, don’t you know?
When Love’s work was finished, done,
That massive boulder somehow rolled
Death and hell, now overcome
The greatest story ever told.
Copyright © 2018. George Toles. All Rights Reserved.