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They wanted his head for claiming he is divine.
Blasphemy! They demanded a sign.
Unlike all the war kings on a beast they arrived.
He came in peace, for it he strived.
At the table of his pupils, he foresaw all the guile.
Veiled behind the 13th seated smile.
They claimed clean hands, he foresaw the move.
At this stage words could not prove.
Abreast him was corruption, he foresaw the sly.
The plan was set, not to sway awry.
He knew of the fate, though escape not the goal.
Hands the bread to him lacking soul.
On purpose, or command? Is forever pondered.
Fate sealed, ban of eternal wander.
Was it devised by him to prove the grand plan?
Was he just a tool in mighty hands?
For love of his country, or is money his motive?
Silver bribe was the tale thus quoted.
Did he see the corruption and act in just ways?
Was it destiny for all, losing but paid?
Despite the ambiguity, was he better off unborn?
Without him surely men live in scorn?
Betrayal filled the musk air, a chosen one to be. 
Unfolding now, choppy was the sea.
Arrived with the leaders and priests at his back.
Foresaw it too, intuition not lacked. 
A kiss upon him bore the mark, swiftly arrested.
Regret rotted his mind, duly infested.
Was the will fulfilled? As they both died hanging.
One by own hand, other a ganging.
It seems the mighty one had skin in each game.
Which side is he on? Both the same.
The 13th seat of silver, tempting, brings a clout.
Shines, but viscous fire spouts out.

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