Here’s a poem I wrote many years ago. I include it here as part of my project of getting everything on my blog.

The Sophomore

(Romans 1:22)

  The sophomore says, "What is truth?"
  and turns to bask in the admiration of his peers.

        How modern how daring how liberating
      How modern how daring how liberating
    they chant

The sophomore, being American
  Doesn't know
That his "question"

        modern
      skeptical
    cynical

Was asked before, by a

        modern
      skeptical
    cynical
  urbane cosmopolitan

Politician (appointed not elected)
Who happened to live two thousand years ago.

Like many politicians he cared

      Less about ideals
    than results

      Less about ends
  than means

      Less about anything
  than keeping his job
(and his head).


We might call him
    A bit brutal
Though `firm' would be kinder

    (And no doubt Stalin,
        who let nobody go,
    laughed at his laxness)

He didn't like his job;
    perhaps he no longer hoped for better
(Nor feared worse,
    except regarding his head).

And when these wily Jews
    With their heads-I-win, tails-you-lose
        conundrums

Brought forth their madman,
    His first impulse was to play the Roman:
      "I find nothing wrong with him:
          See to it yourselves."

But when they mentioned `King' and `Caesar'
    His heart froze.

    If he killed their madman
        He'd start a riot
            and lose his job
                (and his head)

    If he saved the King of the Jews
        He'd piss off Caesar
            and lose his job
                (and his head)

And when his wife told him to have
    Nothing to do with the righteous lout
She didn't tell him anything
    He hadn't already figured out.

So he punted.

    "Not my jurisdiction!
        Take him to see Herod!"
            (who just happened to be in town....)

    Herod appreciated the courtesy
        But wasn't worried
            And sent the sharp-tongued fool
                (Who suddenly didn't have much to say,
                    funny how people lose it
		        under pressure....)
                    back
                In the attire proper
            to his Royal State.

His ass is covered---if Herod has no problem,
    Caesar certainly won't.  The fool can be king
of whatever world he wants
    as long as it's not Caesar's.

"I'm letting him go!" he said with a shout.
    (Looks like he'll last this one out....)

The crowd's reaction puzzled him.
    They really wanted him dead.
They didn't want the King of the Jews,
    They wanted Barabbas instead
        (And, as Josephus records, they got him)

Oh well, he thought,
    They all look the same to me.
        And we'll get Barabbas next time.

And if I can get them to say
    "We have no king but Caesar!"
        By killing a madman,
Hell, I'll kill ten a day.

And then Pilate had his fun
    A little joke
        Short
            To the point
                Trilingual

And all this went
    As it always does
        When someone gets caught
            In the gears of government

And there's a scientific explanation
    (no doubt)
        For the superstitious rumors
    (persisting to this day)
        That it didn't all end
            With a tomb
                and a Roman squadron on guard.

Our sophomore doesn't know about this
    He doesn't recognize his kindred spirit
        (Or truth either, as he admits).

I guess we haven't learned much
    in two thousand years.