You stood upon the hill, alone,
Even while you preached to the crowd
And said, “I am the Way,
    I am Life, I am Truth.”
But though all heard the words you'd spoken,
The sense was swallowed by their silence.

At the meal, a fleeting silence
Fell upon your friends, each one alone
As they thought of the dupery of which you'd spoken.
They wondered if they might join the crowd,
Save their lonely lives by denying truth,
And by the road to Calvary send you on your way.

When you left them, sleeping, the way
Ahead was clear, as kneeling in the silence
Of Gethsemane, you saw within the truth
Of what you said, of how you faced alone
That designed duplicity, the foretaste of the crowd
Who jeered and jibed at words that you had spoken.

Shocked, as if an order had been spoken,
The soldiers seized you there, pushed you one way,
Dragged you back, and drove you through the crowd
Until before the Roman, you stood in silence,
Isolated from your friends, your world, alone,
Not speaking until Pilate asked, “What is truth?”

Could you have answered, “I am the Truth.”
As once you did before, and having spoken,
Proscribed predestination? But voiceless and alone
You carried that crippling cross all the wandering way
Up the face of the Skull, resigned in your silence,
Numb to those who pushed as you passed by the crowd.

Were you the designated lamb? The crowd
Has turned from you, contradicted by this truth,
Gravidly awaiting your death in silence,
Grasping at your pain, wishing you had broken, spoken,
And shown some fear. Waiting below in the way
That hawks hover when a man dies alone.

In hope, unheard by the crowd, some murmur words you have spoken:
“I am the Way, I am Life, I am Truth.”
And break the silence as you have broken death, alone.

                                               1975 (updated 2023)