By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

A thousand tears alone I've cried,
Springs have flowed and springs have dried,
Yet still the hollowed brook.
A thousand hurts within my soul,
A "hot so hot" it felt like cold.
The tender soul,
It shook.
The fetal position and narrow movement of a soul experiencing shame.
Withdrawn. Alienated. Alone.
Rebuffed. Refused. Rejected.
Kicked. Clubbed. Condemned.
The repositioned pose of a soul situating itself to negative stimuli.
Still smaller yet.
Curved around no object but its knees.
Head encircled by long limbs folded up over,
 Crossing over,
Creating a shield.
 Situating itself for another sharp kick and an earnest blast.
The confesser's soul needs punishing.
A cuss, curse, and formidable word spoken soundly against it.
Disdain. Disapproval.
And a fleeting glimpse of the "sin haters," through the eyes of a "sinful thing's" soul.
Severity unfolding like a tormenting dream,
Like a nightmare delivering sordid realities.
This human hell unrelenting.
This place called ...
The absence of mercy.
Quiet. Silent. Strained.
New feet in the room and the mood entire changes;
The atmosphere charged and electrified by some silent force.
And like the "parting of the Jordon" the path divides,
With the "sin haters" all on one side.
And the sides are uneven but just for a moment.
Feet draw near to the "sinful soul."
The body stoops,
The knees bend,
Tears fall.
The shoulders of Jesus square,
And the "sinful soul" is raised up on shoulders pure and fair,
Above them all.
And mercy brings near the outcast.
And the whisper,
"It's finished and done."
The two are united as one.
The hollowed brook,
A hallowed brook now filled.
"When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, He said,
'It is finished,"
And He bowed His head and gave up the ghost."
John 19:30