Antonius

A proper Centurion

Eyes ahead but moving

Garbed in spotless bronze black and white

Measured pace

Short sword razored ready

Constant check for position

Ever on guard for the random…

Steps never out of balance

Hobnails strike stone

Pontius is a coward

Leaving me to finish that which he cannot

I know this man and value his words

The man is innocent and naïve

Sweat band wet

No criminal

Cloak free not fear but caution

Not deserving of death

Rabble dangerous spitting frenzy

He is chained to the crossbar

Watch that group up ahead

Half dead and bleeding

Steady now

She must be family grotesque in pain

I hate this odorous duty

She holds a dampened cloth in arms out stretched

Trooper make way

He stumbles as she moves

Trooper let her be…

A mother washes a dead son’s face

Screams stones and hatred rain

One final moment the mother and son

Hand ready hilt gripped

He stumbles forward at spearpoint prod

Duty Honor oaths are sometimes filthy words

Another walks out from the rabid throng

I know her...Where

A cup offered to quench a death thirst

Trooper let her be…

He drinks as drops of blood infuse the mixture

She is no threat… Miriam

Falling face down unchecked by bound arms

By Mithras why… Pontius why

At last he hangs draped upon the upright

Four hours… time to end this

He is on the knife edge of searing awareness

Trooper… your spear

A practiced but infrequent thrust of compassion

Heart is pierced… here... from under the rib cage

Honor rests dead on the cross

While I live to fume at who I am