I wrote this poem several years ago; it has undergone several revisions, of which this is the most recent:
On a day called Friday,
which is also called Good–
the God-man hung
on the tree, accursed, in
dereliction — forsaken — he absorbed
infinite wrath; separated,
he related, not as Son,
but as Sin,
spilling amnesty blood,
and rending the curtain.
dannyslavich.com 
I like this poem. Good word images and it flows well. “spilling amnesty blood” is cool.
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