Feminine 101

Legionnaires bar the doors, muting the rabid crowd.

The old soldier rubs throbbing grayed temples.

Before him kneels on stony floor 

A weary prisoner, bruised, bloody, and silent. 

Though battered he whimpers and snivels not,

Though cloaked in scorn, crowned by disdain,

This singular soul does not cower, cringe, or quail.

Some oppressing weight forces him to speak,

“So you are the King of the Jews?” 

.

Wraiths lurking in shadows bend to hear his retort.

Silent sentinels flanking the doors wait.

Pilot, for the hundredth time, wishes

The quandary before him belonged to another.

He had tried, oh he had certainly tried.

More savvy than the fools before,

Herod had his fun and returned the prisoner

To his Praetorium and discretion.

Pilot could cross these wilful Jews.

.

Were that all the old soldier would capitulate

To the ravening mass’s predations. 

But the chill warning of his wife

Rung uncomfortably in this old soldier’s ears.

A dream, a nightmare the woman had claimed

Had broadcast a tortured and dire warning.

Harm not the righteous accused.

He knew well what compulsion drove the throng outside.

Envy motivates all manner of men

To grasp and act out evil plots.

.

With kingly resolve, he speaks, “It is as you say.”

The judge can’t stop an aggravated sigh,

Just give me something to work with.

“Don’t you know I have the power to let you go?”

He asks instead, “They would crucify you.”

And I? I would see you set free.

Blinks away crimson beads, fallen from pierced brow,

The wounded captive meets the captor’s eyes–

Too knowing, too still, too princely.

.

Still he smiles at the disgruntled judge’s bluster,

“You have no authority over me,

‘less it were given from above,”

Pilot’s mouth is dry–he cannot muster answers.

Almost he believes this chained being,

In spite of his now wounded pride.

And to ease the keen insult of truth, the man adds, 

“The one who handed me over to you,

It’s he that bears the greater sin.”

.

In sudden decision, Pilot calls another,

A troublemaker in shackles, brought forth. 

A neat stroke ‘midst the impossible.

Violent, angry, hateful is this Barrabas,

Surely such a ridiculous option

Will reason with the raging crowd.

Yet even as he brings opposites before them,

He knows there is no reasoning today. 

He can’t conceive there is no choice.

.

Ev’ry advantage afforded a stiff-necked race–

Prophets and priests teaching God-given law–

Was insufficient to prevent

Manassah from yielding his firstborn to Molech.

Nor could it rid Saul of his pride and fear,

Or stem Joseph’s jealous brothers.

What the Roman judge sees and cannot understand,

This fallen people, born of Adam’s line,

Will choose Barabbas ev’rytime.

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