Best Pilate Poems
A MAN CALLED PILATE
A man called Pontius Pilate
In order to prevent a riot
Had Jesus killed
The Scriptures fulfilled
Now Christians need not be quiet
Kyle Giddens
Pastor, Olivet Baptist Church
Dublin, Georgia
(Used by permission)
Let pontious Pilate play
His two toothed song for you and I
Barabas the thief shall stay
And Jesus we will chose to die
The messiah has been no option
Bad has been chosen over good
Long on the path of corruption
On this faulty ground we've stood
How many perished in Gomorrah
Only God could account
How many entered the ark of Noah
My little fingers could count
Jezebel rather be renamed a virgin
For Mary to be called a harlot
Christ is a man full of sin
Righteousness we seek in a devil's hut
Blinded of truth beneath the sun
How on us the devils took turns
Who made us sing for joy
Here by the river side of Babylon
"What is truth?"
When you sidestep Jesus,
You sidestep Truth.
When you sidestep Truth,
You mask corruption.
When you mask corruption,
Truth sidesteps you.
"Truth is a Person."
I am the scribe who spends my day fixing angles to a pin
yet in night dreams I spill my seed despoiling Seraphim.
I am the pilot holding fast to a course that cannot win
I am the finger on the trigger to loose the dread Sarin
but through it all I only feel this icy cold within
and pride in duty honoured, is this my greatest sin?
In front of you Jesus standing there arms bound in your unbelief
POWER enamered me, but the fear of Caesar tainted me.
I was not willing to risk the loss of my position.
LEADERSHIP is both liberating and enslaving.
AUTHORITY has boundaries and limitations.
THE opportunity to accept and believe is NOW.
ETERNAL life through The Christ of Calvary's cross.
You ask of me silence as I Rome
Saint peters square gathering hymns
beneath Di Vatican where Satan sits
in solitude a prisoner of haste awaiting
a time to live a time to give malice a
wretched sea urchins filled with rapture
borrowed by solace envy kackling carny
unfolding aimlessly becoming nothing in the
eyes of God sending chills of fear weathered
under the soil sandals of the child of God wrath
behold the tyranny engraved over the watchers
minds eye calling to pontius pilates consciousness
professing goodness portraying the death of Christ
from a morbid dream shared by his wife come to me
now seek truth return void from your sinful actions
hatred devoured love conquered an yet I am still here
When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing,
but that rather a tumult was made, he took water,
and washed his hands before the multitude, saying,
I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.
Mat 27:24
They can’t wash away the stains,
final decisions
that have fatal consequences
Capital punishment decree hangs
like a Damocles sword
Blood judgment descending,
inexorably irreversible
Pilate hands
always got their thumbs
pointed down
Giving death-lust satisfaction
to the condor crowd
Pilate hands
can’t be dirty deeds washed clean
Having Caesar-given power:
Life-and-death authoritative breath
is so intoxicating
Getting Pontius toga drunk
on innocent blood —
They spill the scarlet lifeforce,
violently,
onto their violet judicial robes
of injustice
Black is their cloaked hearts,
red dagger hands
are six-finger degrees of separation removed
from the hangman
Cross over into the darkly barren land,
where the workers of iniquity
forever wash their faces
in nail-rust, crimson colored miry sand
Born in the same hospital as Victory,
A set record and enviable history;
For the benefit of the Self- Deceived,
With the gloves of the same midwife received
And in case another tries to lead one astray,
He from victory but a cot away!
Both blokes the achievement of the same maternity,
Between the two an infant-rooted fraternity.
From the Do-or- Die Sprouts, staggering skill
And from him a conqueror’s rare will
Yet, from him also, the foulest rough play
Besides terrible things one mustn’t say.
After a defeat judged upsetting
Starts a battle with cascading tears
And for a performance ruled irritating
Eyes as deadly as spears.
The Do-or-Die Athlete could make The Alive The late
Enough water for the blood-smeared hands of Pilate.
A facility he had not used
But about it already enthused:
A not funny challenging toilet,
Water needing like Pontus Pilate:
Just to climb it effusive pride bruised
And when one was through with it still mused
Twelve litres of water when not late:
What one might be right to tag Plain Fate
The wildest cats would towards its slouch,
The wildest man on it limply crouch;
Not a convenience you'd for it vouch,
Found faults in the nastiest language crouch.
Don't blame me for
the will of the people!
Though I live, here, yet
I remain, above all
common fray – pure
as crisp mountain snow,
or a morning's rising sun
l freshly seek to coat
with light, each new hopeful day.
Don't blame me!
Peace be with you;
I need only face the Light –
God having my back...
though also resides in
Him, were He so to
exercise, power over all~
including life's dark seeming
impenetrable Nights.
Don't blame me,
though I know Man's Free Will
precedes exhibition of both
happy and sad; but I am
only responsible for my good,
and not others world of historical bad –
Don't blame me,
I will appeal such charges
to Heaven, for I am already
forgiven
If need-be, for comparison
the Devil my corroborating
witness...
“God saw everything that He made,
and behold, it was good”?
I asked him, "What is truth?".
I said, "I find no fault in him".
I said, "I am innocent..."
I said, "Behold the man".
I said, "Behold your king".
I said, What I have written, I have written".
Pontius Pilate facing Jesus questioned what is true.
The answer stood in front of him not a what but a who.
But a breath away from perfect truth if only he knew.
Lord may I never be so blinded that I miss you too.
One man hung on a cross finger tips from the almighty.
Salvation within his grasp but too proud to clearly see.
Instead hurling insults for a fleeting moment of glee.
Lord may I never be so proud I fail to bend the knee.
Jealous leaders plotted to extinguish God's holy light.
Foolishly loving darkness acting like tombs washed in white.
Eyes so deceived they could not see the dire of their own plight.
Lord may I never be so fooled I walk by my own sight.
One woman abounding with love anointed with weeping.
With expensive alabaster perfume kept on pouring.
Overcome with thankfulness she just kept his feet washing.
Lord may I be like her with thanks and love overflowing.
How come we are deemed as free
Though it isn’t clear from what
Can I get a guarantee
That it’s freedom on the spot
If I’m free to walk along
Crossing over every line
Free to think that I belong
To the place that isn’t mine
Free to count, and free to pay
Free to be checked up and not
Recognized the other day
Being lost in freedom’s lot
If my freedom were an item
I would sell it on eBay
Knowing it’ll return next Friday
And till Monday it would stay
Choice is free, though can’t be noticed
Laws unwritten, though obeyed
Who remembers the importance
Of the freedom, been downplayed?
Pilate’s question comes to mind
What is truth? The ages followed
The ephemeral reply
Of the Dylan’s wind blew hollowed
But I know, love, what to do
When at night the time is ours
What's my freedom, if not you?
If you hear me through the flowers..