Simon from Cyrene
A father two sons
Alexander and Rufus
A journey begun
Through the country
What road to take
Coming to the city
Jerusalem to wait
Soldiers approach
Leading man out
Women following
Hearing a shout
An intersection
A day of fate
The man he stumbles
Under the weight
Crushed into ground
Under the wood
A criminal’s wrath
There Simon he stood
Eyes on a man
Under divine hate
Punished justly?
The dirt he ate
Soldiers look up
Suddenly aware
Simon he freezes
Soldiers they glare
Stepping forward
They cease and toss
Simon they force
To carry this cross
An innocent man?
Following late
Condemned ahead
Uphill no gate
Baring shoulder
Stumbling to lift
Soldiers cursing
A grinding shift
Women wailing
Calling his name
Jesus, called Christ?
The one of fame?
How can it be?
This one, the same?
Who cared and taught
Raised up the lame?
Sweating and faint
Reaching the tops
Golgotha hill
The Skull he stops
Falling down low
Drops at the feet
Weight of the cross
Jesus to meet
And thrown aside
He breathes once more
As soldiers crowd
Purple they tore
Shocked, in trauma
Simon to stare
Crucifixion
Which he did share
