Saint Judas

Saint Judas

When I went out to kill myself, I caught
A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering, I forgot
My name, my number, how my day began,
How soldiers milled around the garden stone
And sang amusing songs; how all that day
Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone
Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.

Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.

James Wright

Sascha Schneider Judas Iscariot c.1923  Judas Iscariot c.1923, Sascha Schneider

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About Keeper of the Keys

I'm a 50 plus [ how time flies] multifaceted, oxymoron, who can never really make her mind up. A Witch, a Follow of the Goddess, a Medium, ( I'll talk to anyone dead or alive), a 'wanna be' Writer, a disorganised Blogger, Cake Baker, Jam Maker, Trainee Patchwork-er and Keeper of the Keys for The Under Gardener's Lodge. Mother Grandmother and Wife. I'm fascinated and excited by many things, and therefore could be called eclectic or even eccentric, though some have not been that polite. I live in this Beautiful Magical Lodge with my husband Lou, our rather large dog, Shea and a few other previous residents, who come and go. And like many women of a certain age - I like purple [ and some how pink!] rather a lot!
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One Response to Saint Judas

  1. Pingback: Saint Judas | Tales From The Under Gardener's Lodge

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