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 © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace