Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Judas' Lament

Thirty pieces of silver, a slave’s price,
I took for the life of the Lord of Life.
Not out of greed, nor drear despite;
but out of love: twisted, yet bright.

I cared to be noted. 
To be a part of His world:
preferring lambent hate 
(not to be ignored)
to dim indifference; 
for she’s the truly frigid
antagonist of ardour’s heat. 

He blessed my bread
then, with gentlest deference,
He urged me on my way.
So with Him then I could not rightly stay,
and I stepped into the night:
not out of spite, nor sweet revenge;
but out of love: twisted yet bright.
I desired to affect Him.
To constrict Him to react to my brazen act.
Not to reject me: but account me
as a relevant and worthy opponent:
He knelt in prayer, his soul alight with fear and pain.
I gave him my kiss:
not out of treason, nor harsh betrayal;
but out of love: twisted yet bright.

He called me friend.
For me He’s to die.
Of love there is no greater token:
not kind caress, nor gentle word.
Now my heart is broken.
The silver pieces I did return,
redeeming the life I’d sadly sold:
not out of anger, nor wish to slight;
but out of love: twisted yet bright.

Now He is mine, as He hangs on high
and redeems my life from the grave.
Not out of need, or hope of gain;
but out of love: faithful and brave.

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