For Thirty Shekels of Gold
on the day of
the last supper
we
break bread with Jesus
I
sat by His right hand
and he always knew
that the flesh is
weak in mankind
He looked at me again
while
fresh eyes journeyed into my soul
there to find the reason
for the unholy betrayal
then
my soul replied in broken tears
for thirty shekels of gold
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment