Simon Carries the Cross

I watch Him move through the crowd, like a wounded lamb,

Maimed, confused; straying from the flock

His head is bent, bleeding from his crimson crown

That rests upon his head like the burden of thirty-three spears

The weeping of women, children echoing through the crowds

As the soldiers shove his brothers and sisters back.

He shuffles along, his steps slow and solemn,

The burden of faith heavy upon his shoulders,

As we watch him struggle on

Fear growing heavier with each step,

Anguish,

Then He falls, unable to continue

His strength flickers and he is forced up again like a slave driven

To carry love and hope to its final breath,

To the hills of Golgotha.

His mother is devastated

Frozen in mute horror, she realizes the horrific end

He must face,

Alone.

Weak and bleeding, my brother is relieved of his burden

As I take it upon my shoulder, to carry it the rest of the way

It is a heavy load but I carry it nonetheless,

Feeling nothing but the numbness one feels before a death

Still I carry the cross up the hills of Golgotha, distant, empty, calling

Where our Savior must pay his holy sacrifice

So we may live again.