I am not quite so selfless, Lord,
As those holy ones who give
And serve and take alms to the poor.
I hear Your words on sacrifice
And feel the weight of the wood.

As the cross crushed You, Lord,
So Simon had to help.
We dread Good Friday,
There is the list of sin.

Sins like the weight of boulders bearing down
Like rocks on our lungs,
Like stone doors slapped on a tomb

Which burst apart
As sins blew to dust.