Good Friday

My cross is too heavy to wear
I looked with envy at others
whose crosses seemed lighter than mine
I beheld the cross
I impulsively wanted to wear
I forgot about the thorns
that started to pierce my skin
listening to the sound of my own footsteps
the weakness to fall for the selfishness
gruelling and bitter with strife
of this confusing swirl
Wondering where my journey would end
Walking this path I feel all alone
Weak and weary I find no strength to stand falling forward clinching sand
torn, battered and bruised I look again
I endure the anguish, as ropes bind hands and feet
a spike set on my skin
the cross I'm nailed with
horrid pain, would that jerk shake my soul
my own cross i wear