Peter, Simon Peter -- how
was dinner with your friend?
I'd heard you made a forceful vow
to shield him to the end.
Then, when he took a servant's role
to wash your feet, you said,
Lord, do not merely wash my sole,
but wash my hands and head!
Peter, Simon Peter -- it
appears you've been asleep.
Did not your friend say, Pray a bit,
my soul is crushed with grief?
Again, I saw him wake you up
so you could watch and pray.
With tears of blood he bore his cup
alone near where you lay.
Peter, Simon Peter -- fight!
Get ready with your sword!
Remember when you said tonight
that you'd defend your Lord?
There's many more of them than you;
just breathe, and calm your fears.
Now, choose a target -- maybe two,
and aim between the ears!
Peter, Simon Peter -- get
yourself away from there!
Why, you've denied you ever met
your friend -- I heard you swear.
You've now denied to know him twice;
your desperation grows.
Tonight, you will deny me thrice
before the rooster crows.
Peter, Simon Peter -- man,
you're gasping for some air.
I heard you heard the news and ran
to find his tomb was bare.
Now, more confused, you catch your breath
and with your sorrow, grope.
Your broken heart since Jesus' death
just caught a ray of hope.
Peter, Simon Peter -- cast
your net into the sea.
Then bring it up and hold it fast --
quite heavy will it be.
No longer will you troll the deep --
your friend is on the shore.
He beckons, Feed my lambs and sheep,
and love me evermore.
This poem was a finalist in the April 2020 poetry contest