Crushed between the hot Judean sun
And the broad, flat, courtyard stones,
Hard on my knees,
Squeezed and choked,
  as every self-serving lie
  and avaricious sneer
        rises in my throat.
I now can see as I've never seen.
I now can hear what I've never heeded,
Every plea for mercy through the years,
As memories assault me,
Pummelling my gut,
Throwing me down gasping,
Grasping for mercy--
A shred of hope--
For me, a sinner.

I push myself into this corner.
I can pull only my cloak over myself.
I have no shawl or fringes
To drape carefully over my head.
I am not like other men,

Who work hard and
Who pray beside me with faith and confidence,
Who fast and give and
Whose eloquence I have marred with my groaning.

And now to return
Down across the Tyropeon valley home
Where I will stay
Until I am fit to return to the company of godly men.

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Check out another Inkwell member's page: Marianne Jones .