Simon of Cyrene

Poetry | Randy Conway Poems
Noel Joshua Hadley

SIMON OF CYRENE

Randy Conway

I am just a man

I am no different than other men,

At least I wasn’t until I encountered Him.

I had come to the city to celebrate the feast,

I followed the crowds in order to peek,

At this spectacle the Romans were making of a man

Who could have known I would be part of their plan.

 

A corpse, just a walking corpse

That would describe Him best,

And so much blood,

it ran profusely from the wounds the beatings had left.

I became ill just watching this morbid and frenzied parade.

How is it I, or these others could watch refusing to turn away.

The road He was walking led to a hill outside of the town

With every step He left a crimson trail upon the ground.

 

An enormous wooden cross on His back had been placed

Dragging this load He struggled, He stumbled and fell beneath its weight.

That’s when the soldiers began searching the crowd

Then one of them pointed to me shouting loud.

This soldier demanded that I, Simon of Cyrene

Take this man’s cross to carry; the stipe and the beam.

 

I was but a bystander and I tried to say no

But a soldier grabbed me and threw me in the road.

The people were mocking both Jesus and me

As I worked into position under the tree.

He didn’t look human this man at my side

Then He touched me and in that moment I realized

 I would be forced to see this man die.

 

I had heard that Romans would kill men this way

But I had never actually seen it, not until that day.

As I walked beside Him, He was barely still alive

I felt the weight, smelled the blood, I had to question why.

 

Sweat pouring from our bodies, the soldiers pushed us on

He encouraged me as I carried His cross then He called me son.

Suddenly I felt proud to carry this condemned man’s cross

That’s when I recognized Him, I had heard Him say

He came to save the lost.

We talked and prayed as we struggled down the road,

But it was Jesus, it wasn’t me who was carrying the load.

He said my sins had been forgiven, before we reached the hill

Then we started towards the top where I knew He would be killed.

 

At the top I dropped the cross with a crash upon the ground

Sometimes, late at night I wake up to that sound.

Jesus didn’t hesitate, He laid His body down.

Then He stretched out His hands in a gesture of surrender,

I watched the soldiers drive the nails, every detail I still remember.

The hollow tone of the hammer blows will be forever ringing in my ears.

The sounds, the nails, the thorns, the fears,

 the smells, the blood, the dirt, the tears.

 

Then I felt a pain on my shoulder, a splinter under my skin,

I took it out and looked at it then I looked at Him

Jesus Christ my Savior, dying for my sins.

I still have that splinter; I keep it hidden in a box

It is both treasure and reminder of My Savior and the cross.

 

The earth erupted with violent quakes blackness covered the sky

The people trembled, some looked away, but I watched Him die.

I was broken and confused and slowly walked away

I couldn’t bear to travel home so I found an Inn and stayed.

For three days I walked that road and stood on the hill again

Reliving all the things that happened when Jesus paid for my sins.

 

Then I thought I must go home I had no more tears to cry.

I believe The Father kept me there because I learned that Jesus is alive.

Bursting with joy I ran for home I had a story I needed to tell

You see this splinter I told everyone, it saved my soul from hell.

 

Jesus now walks with me, everywhere I go

Because of a walk I took with Him

Down Calvary’s blood stained road.

 

Randy Conway

IN the summer of 2019, I was seated in the wine cellar of a walled Medieval town high above the Dordogne Valley of France, not far from Sarlat-la-Canéda, making phone calls, writing reports. I have given this story in other places and it appears as though you’re about to hear it again. Rob Skiba is a name you that you might be familiar with. Though he had made a name for himself as a Nephilim researcher, more recently Rob had taken a dive into the deep end of the pool via flat earth research. The recorded interviews I conducted between he and Rick Hummer, a fellow flat earth investigator and close friend of his, was published while still occupying that very wine cellar. Read all about it. Chicago Is Not a Mirage.

Word quickly spread. Within a few short weeks, dozens of flat earth researchers began accepting my invite for a private interview, if not a series of interviews. From a 17th-century tower built by King Louis XIV, and with a stunning view of the Alps, I sat down with Robbie Davidson, founder of the Flat Earth International Conferences, conducting multiple sessions. While staying in Dumfries, Scotland, David Weiss agreed to take part in the interviews, as did Bob Knodel of Globebusters. There were others. But when I asked the interviewees to discuss the moments that shaped their lives, among the many PSYOPs, false flag attacks, and hoaxes that were discussed, only these men committed commentary to the false 9/11 narrative.

The resulting recordings ballooned into The Unexpected Cosmology, a book which became a website and was even intended as an anthology. And of course, the following discourse was originally a chapter. It was Walt Disney who stated, “Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world.” Those sentiments remain applicable here as well. American Sensationalism: The 9/11 Interviews was always intended to be expanded upon with the inclusion of new researchers. So I’m sorry to say the project became stagnant during the Covid-19 psychodrama. I took a break to tackle other projects. We lost Rob Skiba. Rob offered hours of private conversation regarding his life but we never got around to the big one. 9/11. It was in the cards. Sadly, Bob Knodel died soon afterwards. Voices are being squeezed from an entire generation. Gnosis passes with them.

In the aftermath, the FE community became fractured. People began going their separate ways. Robbie Davidson, among a noted few others who were interviewed for the project, got up and left the movement altogether. It is not my intent to erase his or the contributions of others if only brief. They came, they went, their testimonies remain.

The original vision may have hit roadblocks but it is not forgotten. I expanded this paper a few years later to include testimony from author Pauly Hart, a dear friend of mine. I had wanted to continue that trend every year thereafter but you know how it goes. For the 25th anniversary of the attack I have redirected my efforts to its first large scale expansion, including Andrew Hoy and Darrin Geisinger into the mix. Perhaps others will lend their experiences to the recorder in time.

The following is their report.

Read the 9/11 Interviews

Watch the Interviews