Dear Iscariot,
What is remorse,
In comparison to repentance.
Dearest Judas,
On the land that you hang
Did my words pool to your fingertips,
Rosy and honest
Could you feel the faith leaving your body?
Were my gifts of heart-
Leverage
Simon weeps upon your headstone
Knowing his children rest with only eleven heads
He watches them grow and believe
Scared of how to tell them what became of you
The kissed we shared in the garden
Always your rabbi
Not your lord
Once you devoted yourself to me
Oh lamb
Of the free
I would've let you see
What heaven could be
Your Defiance starch on fingers
You tore yourself from me
As you ate the bread of the last supper
You knew who it would be
none the wiser
Sipping the wine
Not a drop of water in sight
The fish Peter caught
You tear into it like an animal
None the wiser
That I know all
None the wiser
Of my plan
Dearest Judas,
I do not blame you for what you have done
In the short time, I was no more
If only you'd been more patient
Grief does not wait for one to be ready
In a better world, i would have come for you
And taken the equipment from round your neck
Tending to the burns you've branded
This field would be full of flowers and fruit trees
But for now, the fruit is overripe
It is withering and aging, judas
For forgiveness is a mead
Refusing to mix with regret
And heavy is the burden
Of the man who wears the thorn crown