Voices

I don't often write poetry because, frankly, I'm not that good at it, but this one turned out pretty well, so I thought I'd share. I'm not certain it's finished yet - I may still tinker with it some more, so feel free to offer any comments or suggestions.

Voices

Walk tall, we hear, with head held high...
The ancient whisper chants the spell
That doomed before us many brothers,
Sisters, others who, unable to tell
The malice buried in the words
Thought fair of form, behind them fell.

The whisper sounds of kindred voice
And speaks to us of what is wise,
Yet underneath its silvered tones
A creeping darkness spreads the lies
That wrought the death of Eden fair
And looks on us with hungry eyes.

Though now we may not bend an ear
Nor acquiesce to its demands,
Tomorrow waits, still haunted by
The spirits of our greedy hands...
But is this path our doom to walk,
To fill our days with endless grasping?
Better far to softly tread,
And burden not the world in passing.

One Step

Raining again, he thought absently. He sat by the window and stared out at the monochrome landscape, at the people who drifted idly by on the streets below like absentminded ghosts losing themselves in the mist. Blue smoke from his pipe rose lazily around his head. He liked a pipe for thinking; although he had a reputation (admittedly well-earned) for brazen, impulsive action, he was quite deliberate about thinking. There was a ritual to a pipe that suited him. One doesn't simply light up; there are preparations to be made and not rushed. Packing, tamping, lighting, and smoking all had a rhythm that forced him to slow down. To take care, as I do when I think, he reflected.

This was a day that called for thought. The others sat around singly or in groups of two and three, mostly quiet as well. It seemed hard to believe that only a week ago they had arrived in town, greeted by the throng waving signs and placards calling for upheaval and revolution. He chuckled in spite of himself - they had been expected to arrive in a motorcade suitable for a visiting head of state. Instead, the sight of a line of Harleys riding up the interstate must have taken not a few by surprise. He did like to shake things up, keep 'em guessing. Power brokers do not ride Harleys, apparently.

Things changed rapidly, however. Is there anyone he hadn't pissed off before he was done? The midnight arrest, the sham trial, the hasty execution, and the public's support for it all - It's amazing what can be done in the name of "national security," he thought bitterly. The rest, of course, had scattered. He had paced the halls of the courthouse until a reporter cornered him, hoping to get an "exclusive". She certainly got that, and more. I haven't used language like that in years. At least I'm not likely to be quoted. He pushed the thoughts away before they could overwhelm him with disgrace and shame.

And then...things started to get interesting. The body had somehow gone missing, and word somehow got out. Two of their number had a bizarre encounter with a familiar stranger, and returned bearing impossible news. And then, as they met together last evening, something more strange and wondrous by far had happened. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd say we were all crazy. Somehow, in the middle of dinner, He had appeared in this very room, talked with them and ate with them, and then, just as suddenly, He was gone. The stories were true, and I still can't get my head around it. This changes everything.

They had talked far into the night, wondering what came next. They hadn't actually come to many conclusions; He hadn't been all that specific. One thing at least they needed to do - He had promised to meet them in a few days' time back home. Perhaps they would have some answers then.

James' voice broke the silence. "You know, maybe we should try to get in with the Sadducees..." The thought hung there in the silence, until someone started to chuckle. Then, as though a dam had burst, laughter came pouring out of them, joy and mirth that they hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. Peter joined in, his low chuckle mingling with the others' in a wholesome, cleansing way. No, that won't do at all, he thought wryly. But at least we know the next step. One step is not a journey, but it is a beginning...

EDIT: Credit where credit is due, and a nod to Jeff for the image of Jesus on a Harley.

The Governor

It's too damn early for this, he thought.

He stared across the desk at the man sitting calmly before him, much too calm for someone who most probably would not wake to another dawn. It was unnerving - the man's steady gaze left him feeling as though he were the one on trial. Most men who sat in that seat were either haughty and belligerent or terrified and incoherent. They all smelled the same, though - the rank mix of fear and sweat and urine that told the truth. Not this one. This one was different. This one simply sat and waited, fixing him with that measuring gaze.

This is ridiculous. I need a smoke.

Lighting a cigarette, he took a drag and held it for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. "You know what you have been charged with," he said to the man.

"I know what has been said about me," the man replied. "What do you think is true?"

He could see why the theocrats hated this man. He didn't act like an insurgent, like a criminal one step away from the gallows. He was too self-assured.This one could be dangerous, he thought. Out loud, he said, "I could care less about your miserable religious squabbles. What have you done?"

"I have not come to fight, if that is what you are implying," the man said flatly. "My authority...is from another place."

Fantastic. One of the religious ones. "So, you do not deny that this...movement...belongs to you?"

"It does," the man replied, "as do all who belong to the truth. I am here to speak truth."

This keeps getting worse. He stood to his feet and started for the door. Almost as an afterthought, he paused. He stared at his cigarette for a moment before dropping it to the floor. "What is truth?" he growled, grinding the smoldering butt into the tile with his heel before walking out.

As the door closed behind him, he thought he heard a response come from the man. This time, however, the man's voice sounded different, almost...regretful?

"I am," the man said softly.