I have waited long for this day,
To kill the Man who caused me shame.
Who before the people dared to say,
“Woe to you” and cursed my name.

I rush to the Garden to seize the Man,
Who healed so many with His hands.
A single kiss upon His cheek,
He had been betrayed for so cheap.

Before the council His case is heard,
His head hangs low, looking to the floor.
Nothing is uttered, not a single word.
He stands in silence, this so-called “Lord.”

I scoff His name, and pluck His beard,
I strike the face of this Man I feared.
I tear my robes and with a cry,
“Kill this Man. He deserves to die!”

I take Him to Pilate to be tried
Before the judge He now stands,
A call goes up to be crucified
His death sealed, by washing of hands

I watch now as His body is crushed,
They make a crown from the brush.
The blood drips red from His brow,
As He sits in silence before the crowd.

I watch as they raise Him high
This Man condemned to die.
With one last breath He gave a cry,
“It is finished!” and then He died.

Who killed this Man upon the tree?
This hypocrite, this Pharisee.
I nailed Him to that tree,
The hidden Pharisee is me.

This my first attempt at poetry, so please no mocking or sneering.