You stood upon the hill, alone,
Although in conversation with the crowd
And said, “I am the Way,
I am Life, I am Truth.”
But it was if the words had not been spoken,
Or swallowed by their silence.

Then, at the meal, a momentary silence
Fell upon your friends, each one alone,
Pondering the betrayal of which you had spoken,
Wondering if they would join in with the crowd,
Save their lonely lives by rejecting truth,
And by the road to Calvary send you on your way.

But then you left them, sleeping, the way
Ahead was clear, as kneeling in the silence
Of Gethsemane, you knew yourself the truth
In what you said, yet still you faced alone
That eternal treachery, the foretaste of the crowd
Which jeered, when once they listened when you had spoken.

And then, as if the order had suddenly been spoken,
The soldiers seized you there, pushed you one way,
Then another, and dragged you through the crowd
Until before the Roman, Pilate, you stood in silence,
Isolated from your friends, alone,
Unspeaking, until he said, “What is truth?”

Could you have said, “I am the Truth.”
Like once you did before, and having spoken
Changed your fate? But no, you chose to go alone
And carry your lonely cross all the weary way
Up the face of the Skull, feeling in your silence
Only pity for those who pushed as you passed by the crowd.

So now you have come to this, the crowd
Has turned against you, away from your truth,
Waiting for your death in silence,
Wishing that in your pain you had spoken,
Shown some fear, waiting below in the way
That hawks hover when a man dies alone.

Yet, in hope, some of the crowd murmur what you have spoken:
“I am the Way, I am Life, I am Truth.”
And break the silence as you have broken death, alone.

                                                       1975