Rhythm (Poetry Book)

Son of Man

"Centurion, what is that noise?
Is not that the prefect's voice?"
"Shut up, thug!" The soldier said.
In prideful uniform of red.

I grasp my chains, I couldn't rest.
The loud unrest put peace to test.
A mumbled roar that wouldn't yield.
It sounded like a battlefield.

Then suddenly, the soldiers came.
Into my cell and yelled my name.
"Come now, thug! Don't be so glum!"
"Pilate wants you, you rebel scum!"

The soldier's fist lands on my jaw.
For prisoners, there was no law.
I knew I was a criminal.
But I was not an animal.

Dragged out of the musty cellar.
Saw Him chained beside the pillar.
"God help the Man, who could it be?
Is that the Man from Galilee?"

Soldiers placed me by His side.
I couldn't stare, God knew I tried.
His crown of thorns, His bloodied face.
The Romans surely had their ways.

He was in pain, yet He said none.
His suffering to them was fun.
I saw no guilt, just humble eyes.
What did He do to pay such price?

The crowd was mad, all eyes on me.
Then Pilate asked who he should free.
I realized, this was a choice.
My fate relied onto their voice.

Just then, I knew, my fate was sealed.
Of course they'd choose the One who healed.
The One who cured, but then they squealed.
They wanted me, the one who killed.

Pilate asked the second time.
I knew he also saw no crime.
It should be Him, the prefect thought.
Not me who killed and then was caught.

But Caiaphas enticed the crowd.
"Free Barabbas!", they screamed aloud.
My shackles fell before I knew.
Why am I free? Give me a clue.

Ushered off the prefect's stage,
I am no longer in a cage.
As I stepped down, I turned to face
He who silently took my place.

The crowd rejoiced, they took me in.
It was as if I didn't sin.
"What should I do, with Him, your King?"
Pilate heard the most twisted thing.

"Crucify! Nail Him to the cross!"
They wanted blood, they didn't pause.
Pilate washed his hands from guilt.
A tragedy he couldn't tilt.

That should be me, to Calvary.
Why did He claim my misery?
That piece of wood, it should be mine.
Instead I get to drink some wine.

He stumbled down, I saw Him fall.
He had legions but did not call.
I watched the whip crack on His back.
The trail of blood along the track.

Where are His friends? They must be near.
They must be petrified with fear.
The question though, what's still unclear
Is why He's there while I am here?

It was a slow and painful sight.
He carried on with all His might.
That should be me, supposedly.
Yet He endured unselfishly.

They stripped His clothes, the cuts were bare.
The Romans laughed, they didn't care.
Betrayed, I heard, for some amount.
Now he had wounds no one could count.

Arms and feet, they pressed against
The cursed wood, they then commenced.
The rusty nails, the splurting blood.
And all the High Priest did was nod.

Amongst the crowd, I heard them mock.
I thought they were this Sheperd's flock.
But no, these vile and wretched souls
If given chance would pierce more holes.

Paid in full, He breathed last.
The suffering has gone to past.
Until He died, a death unkind.
I know my name was in His mind.