Best Historyhair Poems
He was a rugged looking fellow, black hair cropped a little shorter than most under his
dirty skull cap. His hair graying a little at the sideburns of his beard, betraying his unknown
age. No matter how many times he walked these hills Simon was always awed by their
beauty. This occasion coming back from helping his brother's family in the hill country of
Cyrene with their herd of sheep, was no different. It was usually a quiet and peaceful walk,
accompanied by the sounds of nature and the occasional distant sounds of bells tingling from
the necks of wayward sheep.
This time as he neared the city, it was different. There was noise and lots of it. A crowd
of people slowly making their way up a worn dusty trail , disturbing the usual peace with
jeering, crying , cursing and drunken yelling. He could hear it echoing across the rock strewn
hills. This certainly had a feeling of impending doom about it. His curiosity peaking, he
veered his course in that direction and broke his way through the chaos of the crowd to see
what it was all about.
It was as he feared...an execution…Roman style. The man bent in travail under the
heavy cross beam was a bloody mess. They must have really hated this one! It was hard to
imagine what he could have done to deserve this. His clothes were torn and bloody. You
couldn’t see the features of his face because of too much blood oozing from the basket
looking mesh of thorns jabbed into his skull and tangled in his hair.
Apparently this poor culprit couldn’t take it any more and fell.. hard ..into the dust and
rocks of the path with the cross beam pinning him down. Simon was struck dumb with all the
hate and sorrow concentrated here so close to the holy city. He turned quickly in disgust to
leave this man made hell when an armored guard poked the handle of a spear into his ribs
and yelled at him to help the convict! He hurriedly picked up the beam allowing the poor man
to get to his feet and continue with the morbid procession.
----- continued in part 2