"Touch your feelings. Cry. Show that emotion."
I remember one who did that as the plot thickened.
Speaking of truth from his purple toga:
Purple dripped to the floor because of his fear.
It crawled off hanging flesh on a back.
It trickled off the whip, splattered on stone.
He feared losing his position in the hierarchy.
He feared being labelled a tyrant.
He feared being labelled too clement.
Truth knocked at his door, offering
He chose his weakest emotion as guiding star,
And led Barabbas to lonely babies and future orphans.
Standing there, drowning in fear, fear, fear,
Beset by crystal balls drawing his fate
In paths to future outcomes in purple blood
On the city walls, amidst the clamour, his
Was vaulting over a bowl of ostrich water, washing
Off the blood saying, "It wasn't me! Fac sicut vultis"
Where was the Evangelist, to write the guilt,
Shame and justified tears, as the eclipse shook
The temple to its foundations, stole the light
Off the world? To watch him watching Him on His
Shedding the tears of repentant strong men, but
Only, this time regretting "what if", "what if".