in the final moments before
you set yourself swinging
tell me, what were you thinking of?
what had filled those three homeless years
in the moments between the stories we see?
a coin filched slyly from the moneybag —
a self-righteously seething sneer
at the tears and perfume of a prostitute?
tell me, did you really love the poor
or just the wealth flowing through your fingers?
and after all the miracles, signs and wonders
after the dead walked from the tomb alive
you sold Him for four months’ silver
the Son of God betrayed at a bargain basement price
tell me, when you kissed Him
your faces only breaths apart
did you feel nothing at all?
cursed is he who hangs on a tree …
could it be yours was a heart-broken fall?
