For this Holy Week, I will share a poem a day. I’ll be writing drafts basically every day so don’t judge me too harshly if the poems are average. Palm Sunday’s poem can be found here, Holy Monday is here, and Holy Tuesday is here; note: there are no for sure events for Spy Wednesday, so I simply wrote a poem about what tradition says happened before Easter.
I will take a bag of coins back home, and they will help me sleep as they whisper, "You were right."
And I will curl in the night; my muscles will relax because this bag of coins will reveal the Messiah of my dreams.
Ex nihilo—I have called forth the God of my dreams who will save me from the Roman bondage, the Roman vices.
I will clutch this money bag with the death grip of the man who overthinks his conscience into silence and tunes out the explicit orders of the Man who said, "Give to Caeser what is Caesar's."
I will dream dreams of sitting at the right hand while my left hand's fingers play with the coins.
Silver: dazzling and reflective.
I will kiss the Man who washed my feet; I will kiss Him with a knowing wink—pleased with myself because I broke into the secret.
I am in on the divine secret.
I am in.
I will take whatever is offered because the hairs on my heart are still on edge from the razor-blade words He spoke to me at the party with the whore who cried—and how did He know? How did He know?
Well, I will show Him. I will show Him in the night that I know better than to exchange my ego for a bowl of water.
He may have fooled the others, but with this bag I will exchange this son of man for the glory that we deserve; the victory we were told we would have.