Knowing one's greatest days are past
and yet being dragged along by the currents of time,
never looking back,
yearning for the place of what was.
Our plan was great,
my brothers,
though we could not foretell,
what would become of it.
To bring compassion to a hostile empire,
to soften the edges of fanaticism,
seemed noble enough a cause.
Sitting on this barren rock,
so far from our home,
I am forced by time and conscience
to weigh what we have done.
They longed for an anointed one,
a ruler foretold.
The masses will believe anything,
Especially when it is consistent with their desires.
This we knew,
and upon this we depended.
Oh, the looks on their faces,
As we continued to distribute the bread and fish,
from place unseen!
On consideration,
A better death could have been planned.
Waiting three days for them to leave became too much,
and one intended a martyr,
became a god.
As with all such movements,
those seeking power and influence
pervert what once was.
And the plan for one to speak of compassion
and die a martyr's death,
became yet another institution of oppression.
Oh, my brothers!
To have those days over,
I would have remained a builder,
or else sold olives from a stall,
at the entrance to Jerusalem.
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