Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Pilate's Wife Dreams



19 And as he was sitting in the place of judgment, his wife sent to him, saying: Have thou nothing to do with that just man; for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.
Matthew 27

A troubled sleep in the morning
Light of unsettled Jerusalem.

Images chase each other in
Horrid, hurried blood tinted hues.

A man, young and strong and
Open, betrayed and alone.

I see Him, I see His pain
The swords, the torches, 
the treacherous kiss.

The mouth, apt to smile
I see it struck and spat upon.

A back, strong to carry another's 
Burden, scourged, its flesh 
Ripped apart.

And you, my irresolute husband
I see you, not glorious 
Not Imperial.

Hands, which I know are
Healers hands, I see too
Nailed to unforgiving wood.

Feet, once made beautiful
The bearers of good news,
Deformed by hammer blows.

Kindly eyes, lovely eyes, His
Eyes which have seen what we
Cannot see. Darkened with pain.

A cruel, twisted, barbed and
Vicious crown thrust unjustly
Upon that just mans head.

A great heart and a generous one
That would give all does give all
When pierced by a legionnaire's lance.

A woman, a mother, a helpless
Mourner for a perfect Son
While He yet lives.

Wild, cascading, unheeded
The tumbling hair of a Magdalene
Woman transported with grief.

Yes, husband, I have suffered
But worse is to come 
If your coward heart
Rules this day.

I see Rome, mighty Rome
Fallen, the Eagle vanquished

By a pale Galilean

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