“You will betray me three times before the cock crows…”
In a corner of an upper room in the great city,
he huddled, apart from the others, with his frantic thoughts,
a storm blowing wind and rain against the walls
of his dwelling and against the walls of his broken heart.
His body, a heap of weariness and pain, tears streaming
down his worn face—a mirror of his anguish.
There was no consolation for this sorrow.
For he had betrayed the one he loved most—
whom he had sworn to defend unto death.
“O God!” He screamed from deep in his soul.
“My God! Please forgive my miserable weakness!”
But his thoughts were lost in the roar of the
raging storm, within and without.
There would be no comfort for him this night.
All that he had hoped and believed in for so long
had been taken away and nailed to a cross.
Sweet memories flooded his troubled mind.
Haunting him, taunting him with their beauty.
Days of glory whispered to his broken heart,
reminding him of his contemptible, selfish crime,
like a sword, cutting deep into his conscience.
The others kept a safe distance from him
fearing he may fly into a sudden rage of temper.
And knowing, there were no words to console.
He was the Rock—the one chosen to be so.
sitting alone now with his thoughts, alone
to bear these desperate hours.
© Richard Keith Carlton