I spoke to my brothers,
“All will be well. We will triumph.”
“But what if we don’t?”, they said.
“What if he is not who we hope he is?
What if our hopes are misplaced?
What, then? What shall we do?”
“All will be well. We will triumph,”
I reassured my brothers.
Now he hangs dead – a warning, an example –
Our hopes impaled with him on the stake.
Where is the kingdom he promised us,
And the power and the glory?
What good was our following him
If we would not be the victors, freed
From the captors of our lands and hands?
What good was our following him;
What had he meant when he taught
Of faith and love and power and life?
Why does she still brim with faith and love
Even in his death? Does it not matter to her
That we did not become the victors
We thought we would be? Does she
Understand something we do not?
Did we not quite understand him?
Or did we conform his words and his life
To our own desires and pains? Why does she
Still brim with faith and love and power and life!
This is a work of fiction.
Photo by Ian Kiragu on Unsplash