PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You know how much I wanted Joseph caught

and, to the Council he betrayed once, brought;

like Stephen, charged with uttered blasphemy

and subject to an open, careful trial

held in our own inimitable style;

then stoned to death without least clemency.

I know, I know---no one can execute

men but the prefect.  Yet, how much was said

after we, by ourselves, stoned Stephen dead?

And hearing that news, craven Joseph fled.

His wealth and absence from Jerusalem

put him---his daughter---and his staff---beyond

our reach.  We cannot try---charge---or condemn

him in absentia.  Caesar is too fond

of those few whom he favors to allow

or tolerate our justice anyhow.

Their haven is a distant, misty isle

(far from the vengenace we would like to take).

Joseph's stepfather had acquired some land,

there, from the natives---peacefully conceded---

with many fields producing tin ore, needed

by Rome to arm its legions; skilled smiths make

it into armor.  As I understand,

Joseph's stepfather seized prosperity's

gifts after Caesar's many victories,

investing up to the economy's

peak:  warehouses, ships, docks, and properties

to rent to other businesses.  Not once

have hard times harmed Joseph's inheritance.

One must admit, his mother married well.

Of our race, and a teeanged prostitute,

she was (they say) a fairly gorgeous . . . bitch.

At just fifteen years old, she cast a spell

on that old Roman merchant, with an itch

for young stuff.  His magnananimity

did not shrink even from her pregnancy

for which the brothel's pimp had cast her out.

But taken in, her fate no more undone,

she was delivered of a healthy son---

Joseph.  That Roman raised him as his own

and left him his investments all about

the world.  No, not a tale tale old gossips tell:

most of these facts have been commonly known.