The pain he bore upon the cross

was heavy, breaking him

and not the scale on which he hung.

Its heft was lightened

only by the blood that leaked

and dropped onto his earth.

The soil beneath

receiving liquid seed

was not newly stained

but saturated

time and time before

by rebels’ hearts spilled out.

Their desperation dried and dead

now mingled with his love

re-moistened by his tears,

together breaking open,

new life rising from

the humus of our fears.