Oh it was bleak Those days in between. When hope was dead. Not wounded or missing, ill or asleep but dead. Lamb followed freely to the execution tree And before their own eyes, hope breathed his last. Spear pierced in, evidence poured out Body was lowered, wrapped-up, entombed. Hope said it himself, with final exhale: It is finished. What was finished? Light? Life? Goodness? Hope? Darkness cackled, death crowed Evil cheered, despair rose. But sun set and sun rose. Sun set and sun rose. Sun set and sun rose. And then. And then what was hidden rushed forth What was humiliated became adored What was impossible came to be What…