On my chest this Friday afternoon,
the elegant small signature
of violent death
swings as I walk, gold tapping my
deep heart, telling me I was there.
(I did not mean to do it; I did
not know.) I slump under the weight
of it; my pulse
echoes the beat of hammers
- Luci Shaw, from Writing the River
On the Way In From the Country
Sabbath. Coming near, I heard
shouts, angry voices, jeers and
at a distance, women crying,
a man, beaten, bleeding, falling
under the weight of a huge
cross, a criminal I thought. I
where men, seeing I was from the
country, threw my goods on the
ground, threatening me.
I carried the cross for that man,
but He carried more.
- Steve West