By Peter Venable
A Stumbling Block
After they pried out Rome’s nails
from His wrists and ankles, the post stood,
wound-stained, for the next one,
a pillar of foreboding
and in piles, like railroad ties,
crossbeams waited for the next
seditionist, or King against Pax Romana.
Pontius Pīlātus was comforted next week
as those bearded temple worshipers—
and their invisible “God” superstition—
left for another year.
A bloody mess he thought
as rivers of animal blood ran down slopes…
The stench from the Valley of Hinnom
will last for days!
King of the Jews, huh? He had a busy Monday
as others would be dragged before his judgment seat.
Better wash my face and get going.
The post and crossbeam remained for decades
until sun and rain and worms rotted it away.
Others replaced them.
. .
19 centuries later,
[PO]NTIUS PILATUS was found
inscribed on a limestone block
and 19 centuries later IESVS
is found inscribed on billions of souls.
Pax Christi.
——-
IESVS·NAZARENVS·REX·IVDÆORVM
JESUS OF NAZARETH, KING OF THE JEWS
Inscribed on a plank, affixed overhead:
This is the way Pax Romana spread news
To plunge traitors and messiahs in dread.
“Ecce homo,” the prefect proclaimed loud,
Smirking. He condemned this pathetic soul,
Then bowed in pantomime before the crowd
As soldiers marched him to a crossbeam pole.
Awash with wine, they nailed and propped him up,
A billboard between two others nailed so.
He writhed—He bled—His mother drank His cup.
“It is finished!” was His last cry and throe.
Across eons the cross remains upright
To flood men’s hearts of hate and blood with light.
The writer has written both free and metric verse for over fifty years. He has been published in Ancient Paths, Time of Singing, Windhover – A Journal of Christian Literature, The Whirlwind Review, Apex Magazine, Kingdom Pen Magazine, and others. He is a semi-retired clinician, volunteers at a prison camp and food pantry, sings in the annual December Messiah, and is graced with a happy marriage, daughter and son-in-law, and Yeshua.
Oh, this is lovely! I love how simply and yet powerfully the first poem hammered home how insignificant Pilate was in the long run, and how though it seemed Rome triumphed, in the end victory did not belong to them. It’s worse to be forgotten than defeated. I love it!
Beautiful poems!