The Friday

Footsteps burdened

Feet dragging under a load

so heavy

that, in the end, you collapse.

The cross you carry

to that hill

is given to another,

and you walk side by side.

You suffering the sins of the world,

he taking one small piece

in wood.

What did he think as he walked with you?

Walked towards your certain death.

Did he cringe under the injustice?

They nailed you,

hand by hand, foot by foot.

You did not fight

you had so much more to think about,

to carry.

Did others,

friends, family, want to rescue you?

But the mighty hand of God

held them back.

There was so much more

to occur,

within your death on a cross.

You hung

under the sweat of the sky

while demonic dogs and the bulls of Bashan

circled around you.

They thought they’d won.

Yet, all the while,

the words of psalm 22

fell from your lips

and the heavens waited.