Antonius
A proper Centurion
Eyes ahead but moving
Garbed in spotless bronze black and white
Measured pace
Short sword razored ready
Constant check for position
Ever on guard for the random...
Steps never out of balance
Hobnails strike stone
Pontius is a coward
Leaving me to finish that which he cannot
I know this man and value his words
The man is innocent and naïve
Sweat band wet
No criminal 
Cloak free not fear but caution 
Not deserving of death
Rabble dangerous spiting frenzy
He is chained to the crossbar
Watch that group up ahead
Half dead and bleeding
Steady now 
She must be family grotesque in pain
I hate this odorous duty
She holds a dampened cloth in arms out stretched 
Trooper make way
He stumbles as she moves
Trooper let her be...
A mother washes a dead son's face
Screams stones and hatred rain 
One final moment the mother and son 
Hand ready hilt gripped
He stumbles forward at spearpoint prod
Duty Honor oaths are sometimes filthy words
Another walks out from the rabid throng
I know her...Where
A cup offered to quench a death thirst
Trooper let her be...
He drinks as drops of blood infuse the mixture
She is no threat... Miriam
Falling face down unchecked by bound arms
By Mithras why... Pontius why
At last he hangs draped upon the upright
Four hours... time to end this
He is on the knife edge of searing awareness
Trooper... your spear
A practiced but infrequent thrust of compassion
Heart is pierced... here... from under the rib cage
Honor rests dead on the cross 
While I live to fume at who I am