The Load

In honor of the sacrifice made for me and National Poetry In My Pocket Day,  I’m sharing my first published poem.  It stands as a reminder to the life and power of our words and be mindful of what we create with them.   This poem by an obscure writer living in Arkansas prior to cell phones and home computers, seemed to take on a life of it’s own, being clipped,  shared and sent ( in the actual mail) from person to person and ending up being read in many churches on Resurrection Sunday around the country.  The Load….a reminder of the cost.

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The Load

How long and rugged had been my journey
My feet bruised by the stony road
And the further that I traveled
The heavier grew my load

At times my path led through the tares
That rent and tore my flesh
Yet ever I pressed onward
For there was no place of rest

In the distance I could see
There was a fork within the road
I’d have to choose which path to take
Which way to drag my load

One appeared quite crooked 
Yet was a wide descending trail
The other straight but narrow
Leading up toward a lonely hill

Huge drops of sweat ran from my face
My weary head hung low
My legs shook with exhausted strength
As I struggled with my load

My aching back bowed beneath the weight 
My blistered hands, split and bled
My parched lips longed for one cool drink
Stung with bitter tears instead. 

I saw someone approaching
And wondered who this man might be
Who stopped along this lonely road
To spare a glance at me

His visage was of beauty
And His raiment, gleaming white
And as I passed this stranger
I saw compassion in His eye’s

As I neared the fork, I tripped
On a rock within the road
I stumbled wearily to the ground
Crushed beneath the load

I lay there by the wayside
Too broken now to stand
And surely I’d have died there
If not for a saving hand

For someone knelt beside me
And I knew I was not alone
As the weight lifted from my back
He said  “I will take your load”

Suddenly all my wounds were healed
Where water and blood once ran
Renewed I found the strength to rise
And turned to thank this man. 

Behold, it was the stranger
I had passed along the way
At the sight of Him, I fell to my knees
Engulfed in grief and shame

His hands were raw and blistered
His back was welt and torn
Blood poured from His weary brow
From a crown of thorn

His back was bowed beneath the weight 
Of the load He took for me
As He headed up that narrow path
That lead to Calvary

My heart was pierced to realize
That He would pay my cost
For when He took my heavy load
It became a rugged cross

For you see, the load He carried there
Was the burden of my sin
I’ve chosen now which path I’ll take
I will ever follow Him

Laura

COPYRIGHT ALERT
©Laura M. Bailey, All the shoes I wear & writing down the Bones, 1990–Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Laura M. Bailey with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

17 comments

  1. Just what I needed to be reminded of this Easter. Great writing Laura. Once I get my head around that greatest gift I need to also celebrate that Christ overcame that weight of sin and death and rose to life 3 days later, to really set us free. Hallelujah, He is Risen! Have a blessed Easter to you and yours Laura. X

    Like

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