Simon Of Cyrene Poem by Randy McClave

He was carrying his cross for his crucifixion
I was there, it was not fiction,
And every step that he took he was spat upon
And he was hit and kicked with force and brawn.
They called him names with every step that he took
And he wasn't a liar, or a murderer, or a crook,
As he headed to Golgotha, the place of a skull
He kept on hearing people screaming hate and sin by the earful.
Then at him someone threw another rock
Then I heard others just laugh and mock,
On this cross he was carrying he will be crucified
And everyone will laugh, after he has suffered and died.
When he couldn't carry his cross to its final course
For me who was a passerby to carry it, they did force,
So, I carried the cross up the hill to Calvary
Where he will be crucified as one of the three.
They had already stripped him of his purple robe
Now his own clothes would be his wardrobe,
He'll be nailed on the cross in his every limb
I, Simon of Cyrene, was the one who carried the cross for him.

Randy L. McClave