Speeding toward the cross...

"Pilate"

Clamoring Jewish rabble!
The snarled mob tangles dirty streets
with churning limbs and fists flung high at
Him?
He reminds me of my brother—except
ratted hair, matted beard, tattered robe
gaping crimson like woven grapes.
Routine, really—third one this week;
standard questions, nonsense answers,
red tape tied in bureaucratic knots,
But the masses bellow.
Look at them!
Legion dagger-eyes unsheathed in hate for—
Love?
Foolishness.
You could have, should have
played the game, worked the system—
but this?
Blame on the blameless?
No! Blame yourself—stubborn, stupid
silence
So be it. Take your royal silence to your royal
tomb.

~ARH 5/3/02~