The Passion

I decided to document some of my poems here. That way they are somewhere just in case i lose the original. This poem is based on the the movie "The Passion of the Christ" The character is the view of the solider beating Jesus just before he is hung on the cross. It's harsh and cruel but it was a class assignment and i wanted to make my poem stand out from the rest.....


I run the whip along my hand
The hot leather sticking to my skin
It seperates into a thousand more strands
Falling between my fingers
Each a metal hook attached to its end
One catches my skin and feels like a jagged knife tearing my flesh
As a small trickle of blood runes down teh back of my hand
I can't imagine the pain that will come

The bring this man in
This man that calls himself the King of Jews
King of the Jews!
I spit in his face as he walks past me
Grab him by the shoulders
Lean close to his ear and whisper
"What God will save you now?"

How dare this man come and claim to be the messiah
What makes him so much better?
He's as ordinary as me
No!
Not ordinary
Not normal
He says he's free
A man with choices
Only in dreams are men free
Only in dreams do men have choices
Who is this Jesus?

His hands tied down so he won't run
Digging into his skin
There I stand
With the whip in one hand

I lift my arm
His head turns to face me
His tender eyes so pure
So innocent
So perfect
With disgust i strike his back
Hearing him cry out in agony
Like the slaves of Egypt

My own eyes dance with glee
How great it is to witness another man's pain
As long as it's not me
As I see the sweet red blood
Slowly start to flow from the wound
Desire and passion over come me

Again and again I rais the whip over my head
Driving my arm down with more force than the time before
People gather
And my joy increases
I start to yell out
Insult after insult
Curse after curse
Each word my raging passion takes me further
I whip faster and faster
Tearing the flesh
Longing to drain more life out of the open wounds

From the crowd
Comes a whimper
Like a child scared in the night
I stop
My arm hurts
My hand forming blisters
The leather has dug into my skin
A stream of blood runs down my arm

I look from my hand to the man before me
Laying limp across the ground
The puddle of blood
Drenching his hair
His robe stained red
He starts to get up
I whip the back of his knees
His face splashes into the pool of blood

The crowd has fallen into dead silence
Like at Mt. Sinai
They stare upon this blasphemous man
With guilt on their faces?
Again he dares to turn his head my way
Eyes filled with pure love

How can this man be so foolish?
Has my whip not taught him anything?
I tell the guards to turn him over
The leather now in my other hand
I walk around his body
My sandals soaking up his blood
Leaving scarlet footprints
He mutters words I barely hear
"Forgive them. Forgive them."
His innocence annoys me
His eyes follow mine
My whip will teach him yet

The whip hits him again and again
Ripping and tearing out flesh
Raw desires flows through me again
I only stop when I can't lift my arm anymore
I drop the whip

Women run up with white linens
Cleaning the deep wounds ...that I created
I walk up to his beaten body
Kneel down next to his ear

And whisper
"I saw no God"