PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Experienced much is our Centurion.

On many Roman roads, his sandals trod,

and many outward posts he kept secure

for Rome---its empire---and the emperor;

and many foes slain on his brandished sword
(some tales exagerated by cheap wine

at times).  And many he has crucified.

Today, I think, he has raised up his last

cross.  Morning light gave way to overcast

skies, then to darkness (and the earth to quakes).

Tossing the dice was like having the shakes.

After the first of three condemned men died

(shouting something; God knows), the whoe storm passed.
Coincidence, surely, it seemed a sign.

Then our Centurion leaped up and cried

(as if in anguish), "This man was the Son---"

(I heard, and tell you what I heard) "---of God."