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Poetry: Washing

I Campbell

Spineless

...Friend of Tiberius Caesar,
Ruthless servant of the Iron Kingdom;
Hands of blood on this adjudicator,
Treading the Pavement anointed with venom.

Into the judgment hall the clay man gaits,
Closing his eyes to truth and righteousness,
Facing the frenzied, priestly pack that hates:
Decision’s hour unveiling his weakness.

Garbed in the corrupting garments of might,
Bends to their deaf’ning, decadent demands;
Fiendish brutality marring the Light:
Innocence claimed, then he washes his hands.

Spotless

... Friend of impoverished sinners,
Matchless Servant of His God Jehovah;
Hands of purity grasping earth’s losers,
Ascending stone steps, the Prophet Yeshua.

Into the upper-room flows the Fullness,
Closing the door on the languishing vine,
Gath’ring the twelve ambitious for status;
Departure’s hour heralds the solemn dead-line.

Garbed in the bondman’s linen towel attire,
Bends to manifest His greatness replete,
Wrapped with humility meant to inspire,
The Innocent kneels, He washes their feet.

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