It wasn't just anything that was carried.

It was layed upon his shoulders.

As the sun beated down,

the crowd could see the blood on his skin,

the blood from anguishing that morning away.

He carried it,

as it layed there he was questioned for caressing it,

saying "Father, Father."

It was heavy,

but he still carried It for us.

He fell hard with the dirt against his skin,

it shouldn't have ever touched his cheek,

but He got up for us.

He traveled along the road marked with people,

some questioning and some filled with tears.

He pressed forward with our names written in his thoughts,

though most of us lay within our sins.

The things we do seem so unforgiving,

but to him they are just another way for him to show He cares.

Through our pain we think no one ever will feel what we each have traveled,

but He has, He's felt it all,

because of the road his footprints have patched.

The heavy carved statue of love is remembered,

for it shows us that there is a better place out there than here.

So while we all wait for these miserable days to pass,

we can think of the thing he carried, for it wasn't just something,

it is everything.

Reviews

[RougeAngel]

love it! your descriptions really paint the picture well. i guess thats why they say it was "amazing love," u know? only amazing love could have done that for us...wait i think i wanna write a new one now! hahaha. lovely poem :)