PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Be gone, Rabbi, nor interfere again.
What had they done, them pigs, what was their sin
against you that you could not leave them be?
Now get you hence. Go back to Galilee---

we hear they still appreciate your pearls
of wit, there.  Preach to hicks and barefoot girls,
tax men and harlots---all those have believed
your words.  Around here, we are not deceived.

One question, though---was that man's life so fine,
so meaningful, you had to drown our swine
to save him?  Did you not compute the cost
of wasting hogs to spare a man that lost?

We do not want you here, despite your powers.
Your values just are not the same as ours.

Starward-Led, an Orthodox Christian

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We, in the Temple Guards, came out against him,
as one goes out to catch a sneaking thief.
They wanted him because he raised a dead man
to life, and brought the priests and scribes to grief.

Our sharpened swords were gleaming in the torchlight,
as we marched, full force, to Gethsemane.
I wondered why the priests should be so frightened
of this one man, who came from Galilee.

We, too, had heard of miracles he did there.
We watched him ride into Jerusalem.
We listen to him teaching in the Temple.
We wondered what those priests found to condemn.

He waited for us, in that silent garden,
almost as if we came at his command.
Some, in the front, spoke to him.  When he answered,
we fell---as if shoved by a ghostly hand.

He watched us patiently while we stood back up,
more startled than we would admit (I know).
His craven friends clung, shaking, to each other.
He said, "If ye seek me, then let these go."

Upright, he walked among us like a ruler.
He never once let on a trace of fright.
I thought, then---I was walking right beside him---
'The priests and scribes have their hands full tonight.'

We heard the trial:  the priests and scribes were shouting
until their lips foamed and they lost their breath.
He never raised his voice, nor did he flinch when
those Romans later scourged him half to death.

He had a bearing I have never witnessed
in anyone.  His courage did not mesh
with common sense, nor did it fail him even
as they drove nails, that morning, through his flesh.

I, too, walked out to Golgotha to see how
it ended.  Hanging from that Roman beam,
he was quite different from the fools there with him:
he never once let out a wail or scream.

And all the while, the blood poured from him, streaming
down to the ground.  Six long hours---a short span
for most---and then he died, so badly battered,
by then, he did not look much like a man.

The priest and scribes cackled with satisfaction
as Joseph (prince in Israel) took him down,
and buried him nearby.  But, two days later,
the news roared just like thunder through the town:

THE TOMB WAS EMPTY!, truly, wholly empty,
no matter what spin priests and scribes could rig.
I told myself, 'All History has changed now . . .

'and this day is the start of something big.' 

Starwardist