Yes, you did follow him
Into the palace courtyard.
You had boldly vowed
To follow him to the end.
Now you are there.
They are torturing him within
As you sit with the guards without,
Outside in that damned courtyard
And wait…
By the dying fire.
‘What am I doing here?’
You ask yourself,
Uneasy and lonely In the dark glow.
‘But at least I am here.’
You tell yourself.
Suddenly, knifelike, someone shouts:
‘Hey! You too were with the Nazarene!’
The finger of the high priest’s servant
Jabs ever so sharply.
And in your heart at least
You desperately shrink towards the gate.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
And you flee instead into the shadows
Of denial.
It doesn’t work of course.
They are on to you.
You are cornered.
They come at you again.
And you deny again - a second time,
This time with an oath.
Then you deny him once more.
Oh so strangely that fateful third time.
The hideous crackle of the rooster’s crow
Cuts the still of the Friday dawn
And with that
You weep an inconsolable weep
That now echoes through the ages.
Why, Peter? Why?
You can only ask.
In a different imperial courtyard
In another time
Another Peter
Another denial
And another why
Image: Waiting For The Word; CreativeCommon's license