Poetry

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His feet
Were refreshed
As he let the Master
Wash away dust
And fatigue.
“You are clean…
but not all of you.”
He winced inside.
It was almost night.

His hands
Took the bread
As they remembered
Egypt’s miracle.
The Master, troubled, said
“One of you
a traitor will be.”
Judas shrank,
For those eyes seemed to see
His inmost heart…
It was almost night.

Suddenly
Satan took full control
Of his will and body,
His very soul.
“Do it quickly”
he heard
and raced away.
It was night.

The minutes flew
As did his feet.
His hands
Grasped the coins;
His lips Jesus did greet.
The Lord went to his doom…
It was darkest night.

Early next day
He saw Jesus condemned
And despair
Gripped him fast
Contemplating the end.
“I have sinned!”
he cried, flinging
the coins to the priests.
His own hands took his life,
his feet swung
in the air.

It was
forever
night.

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