Dreams

I dream.
I dream of his face.
I dream of the blood
that trickled in his eyes.
I dream of the crowd,
the way they cried
for his destruction.
I dream of my own
reluctance to disagree
with the mob.
I dream.
I dream of my hands.
I dream of the bowl
that contains the water
of my sins.
I never emptied that bowl.
My dreams are filled;
Filled with certainty.
His life was not the only
life I washed away
that day.
My decision killed him.
I killed him.
My life is forfeit.
Perhaps also my soul.
Perhaps he will forgive.
It was all
part of his plan.
What choice, then, did I have?
Perhaps he will forgive.
My sleep is fitful now.
Never peaceful.
I am dying.
Remember me Lord,
as I remember you,
and forgive.

Dreams

Treecreeper

Park Avenue, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 3

Artist's Description

I am not a Christian, but I attended scripture when I was in school. It never sat well with me, the way it was taught that people like Judas and Herod would go to hell for killing Jesus. After all, it was also taught that Jesus came to Earth with the express purpose of dying for our sins. I always questioned how God could condemn people to eternal suffering for following his plan. When I was older I attempted to put this view into words by writing this poem about Pontius Pilot wrestling with his concience.

Artwork Comments

  • Biswajit Pandey
  • Cathleen Tarawhiti
  • irina2
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