A Poem by Susan Mazanec

Heavy-Laden

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Within his sacks were sins of many kinds.

The heaviest of all, the type which binds.

Why did he cling to them? Why were they kept?

 Beside the road, he stumbled, fell and wept.

An injured man approached, “I’ll take those now.

 I see your heavy-laden, burdened brow,

below which hangs the scales that cloud your eyes,

so they cannot tell truth from clever lies.”

The man could scarce believe he picked them up.

 "You cannot handle these, they're not your cup!”

 “I’m taking them to Calvary,” he said.

 “I’ll drink the cup, for I’m the Living Bread.”

He watched him disappear around the bend.

The Saviour!  The Massiah! knew he then.