Simon, a bystander, visiting from Cyrene,

Watching this spectacle, this cruel and bloody scene.

Jesus, this bloodied man carrying a crossbar?

Why is this crowd cheering? This scene is so bizarre.

Staggering with its weight, drained, he fell on the road,

Weakened by loss of blood, collapsed under the load.

Roman soldiers grabbed me, to the ground they did toss,

My shoulders now burdened with the weight of His cross.

Up the long hill we climbed, we two a strange duet,

He, dripping crimson blood; I, dripping salty sweat.

Oppressive heat draining, oppressive folks sneering

Weakened muscles straining, “normal” people jeering.

At Golgotha’s summit, this vile parade halted.

The stranger’s hands and feet, with sharp spikes, assaulted.

The cross was raised with ropes and landed with a thud.

The wounds torn even more, butchery, grisly blood.

I look back on that day, the day that changed my life.

At first, I was angered; why put me in this strife?

Once, I carried His cross for man’s posterity,

There He carried my cross for all eternity!