PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I had come to Jerusalem to worship.
But on that morning, curiosity
gripped me; and, as I watched the sad procession,
those Roman soldiers laid a cross on me.

I heard a man had been condemned for nothing
more than the high priest's rage and perfidy.
And Procurator Pilate had approved it.
His laughing soldiers put that cross on me

because the man on whom it had been placed, first---
the Prophet who had taught in Galilee---
had fallen several times beneath the weight, so
impatient Romans put that weight on me.

And as I balanced it upon my shoulders,
I turned my head a little bit to see
the man whose life would soon be lost upon it.
As he stood up, his gaze went right through me.

As if we were acquainted for a long time;
as if he knew my soul (how could that be?---
I asked myself), I felt much closer to him,
as soon as they had placed that cross on me.

The morning had been beautiful, the sky clear,
as we marched through the gate toward Calvary.
It was a low-sloped hillock, almost bare rock.
The cross-beam bore down, heavy, upon me.

We reached the top.  I laid it down, and stood there,
watching those Romans' swift efficiency---
nailing a man to wood.  And then they raised it,
and he hung, crucified, in front of me.

I waited there:  strange were the thoughts in my mind.
That cross had been mine temporarily,
but I escaped it.  Now this man called Jesus
was dying on it, crucified . . . for me.

He was without a sin.  But yet he took on
the sin-brought death of all humanity.
And, as I watched Him suffer, my lips whispered---
"He hangs there now especially for me."

He carried that cross further than I did, for
He carried it into eternity,
right to His Father's throne, for my redemption.
He was the Lamb of God, Who died for me.

Decades have passed, and still I gladly carry
that beam in my heart and my memory,
rejoicing that the Lord, in His compassion,
has shared the glory of His cross with me.