Judas - Biblical poem
May. 8th, 2014 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Judas
Fandom: The Bible
Written: sometime in 2006? 2005? Forever ago.
Note: At some point, this was posted here. I apparently deleted it. *shrugs* For awhile, I thought this to be one of my best works, but after rereading it… hmm. I don’t really think that anymore. Still, I do enjoy it and so I shall post it here again.
Slowly, bit-by-bit, he counted the money,
One coin at a time, dropping each through
His trembling, traitors’ fingers. Each caught the light,
Shimmered white in the fire,
The etchings highlighted, harsh and steel—
It was all there, all thirty pieces.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
He hid them away, back in the calfskin bag,
Dark and soft; he tucked away the pouch
In the folds of his robe, and he pulled a cloak
Over his shoulders, covering the shudders,
Hiding his body’s betrayal because of this wrong.
They jingled, the coins in the bag,
They sang as he hurried to the garden.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
Shadows leapt for him as he led the guards
To the feet of the King. Shadows sent from the
Serpent laughed at him, this silver slave.
The King stood alone, in the center of His followers—
and, the traitor wondered, what sort of followers were they,
as they slept in this moment?—and he walked over.
The guards waited, swords and knives jangling,
And he strode to his King, coins singing,
And pressed his lips to God’s cheek.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
He recounted his money over and over,
Trying to feel anything but benumbed horror.
Sudden riches deserved joy, a bright jubilation,
Not a weary loathing and hot tears.
The King’s words had come to pass, everything foretold
And the shadows sent by the Serpent tormented him,
Smirking at his bloody disloyalty, howling at
The coins slipping through his fingers,
Clattering together on the dirt floor.
The crowds screamed outside, screamed for
The death of their beautiful, glorious King.
They screamed and screamed—and
It echoed in his ears, a chanting—
Thirty pieces, for your soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
The rope was loose around his neck
With a knot at the base of his throat;
It threaded through the air to the trunk of the tree,
Tight as it could go. He touched the rope about his
Neck, remembering their deriding smiles and
Cold, laughing eyes—We’ve won, their smirking
Mouths said, He’s no Son of God, just a blasphemer—
We’ve won. And he threw down the bag, coins spilling out, begged
Forgiveness of the Lord Most High, and said,
I have sinned, for I have betrayed innocent blood.
But they did not care; they had what they wanted:
The Son of God was dead; for thirty coins He’d been betrayed.
Wind blew his dirty hair away from his face,
Giving him one last gentle caress; shadows crowded
Around him and he took one final look at the world,
One last glance, almost bitterly and full of pain—
Hell beckoned him, with the Devil’s grin and
Bloodstained, gnashing fangs, with the carol of
Satan’s own handmaidens—chanting, singing, howling
Thirty pieces, for your soul.
Thirty pieces, poor man, and they weren’t even gold.
Time passes and parts are played, and things are realized,
If a bit too late. The Son of God raised His head
And stretched forth His hand and strode from
That tomb of stone to save all souls.
He ascended to stand beside His Father
And looked upon His creation.
And the betrayer, who caused it all? He finally
Willingly danced with the demons,
Finally threw back his head and howled with them,
Spread his arms and mocked the angels,
Counted his coins—all thirty pieces—and
Retold the story of how he killed the Son.
Up in the sky, by His Father’s side, the Son shook
His majestic head and turned away,
Back to His saints and angels; and the words,
The bitter, sorrowful, broken words, echoed across time:
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold. .
Fandom: The Bible
Written: sometime in 2006? 2005? Forever ago.
Note: At some point, this was posted here. I apparently deleted it. *shrugs* For awhile, I thought this to be one of my best works, but after rereading it… hmm. I don’t really think that anymore. Still, I do enjoy it and so I shall post it here again.
Slowly, bit-by-bit, he counted the money,
One coin at a time, dropping each through
His trembling, traitors’ fingers. Each caught the light,
Shimmered white in the fire,
The etchings highlighted, harsh and steel—
It was all there, all thirty pieces.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
He hid them away, back in the calfskin bag,
Dark and soft; he tucked away the pouch
In the folds of his robe, and he pulled a cloak
Over his shoulders, covering the shudders,
Hiding his body’s betrayal because of this wrong.
They jingled, the coins in the bag,
They sang as he hurried to the garden.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
Shadows leapt for him as he led the guards
To the feet of the King. Shadows sent from the
Serpent laughed at him, this silver slave.
The King stood alone, in the center of His followers—
and, the traitor wondered, what sort of followers were they,
as they slept in this moment?—and he walked over.
The guards waited, swords and knives jangling,
And he strode to his King, coins singing,
And pressed his lips to God’s cheek.
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
He recounted his money over and over,
Trying to feel anything but benumbed horror.
Sudden riches deserved joy, a bright jubilation,
Not a weary loathing and hot tears.
The King’s words had come to pass, everything foretold
And the shadows sent by the Serpent tormented him,
Smirking at his bloody disloyalty, howling at
The coins slipping through his fingers,
Clattering together on the dirt floor.
The crowds screamed outside, screamed for
The death of their beautiful, glorious King.
They screamed and screamed—and
It echoed in his ears, a chanting—
Thirty pieces, for your soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold.
The rope was loose around his neck
With a knot at the base of his throat;
It threaded through the air to the trunk of the tree,
Tight as it could go. He touched the rope about his
Neck, remembering their deriding smiles and
Cold, laughing eyes—We’ve won, their smirking
Mouths said, He’s no Son of God, just a blasphemer—
We’ve won. And he threw down the bag, coins spilling out, begged
Forgiveness of the Lord Most High, and said,
I have sinned, for I have betrayed innocent blood.
But they did not care; they had what they wanted:
The Son of God was dead; for thirty coins He’d been betrayed.
Wind blew his dirty hair away from his face,
Giving him one last gentle caress; shadows crowded
Around him and he took one final look at the world,
One last glance, almost bitterly and full of pain—
Hell beckoned him, with the Devil’s grin and
Bloodstained, gnashing fangs, with the carol of
Satan’s own handmaidens—chanting, singing, howling
Thirty pieces, for your soul.
Thirty pieces, poor man, and they weren’t even gold.
Time passes and parts are played, and things are realized,
If a bit too late. The Son of God raised His head
And stretched forth His hand and strode from
That tomb of stone to save all souls.
He ascended to stand beside His Father
And looked upon His creation.
And the betrayer, who caused it all? He finally
Willingly danced with the demons,
Finally threw back his head and howled with them,
Spread his arms and mocked the angels,
Counted his coins—all thirty pieces—and
Retold the story of how he killed the Son.
Up in the sky, by His Father’s side, the Son shook
His majestic head and turned away,
Back to His saints and angels; and the words,
The bitter, sorrowful, broken words, echoed across time:
Thirty pieces, for his soul.
Thirty pieces, and they weren’t even gold. .
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2018-09-16 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-09-25 10:28 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading!