Judas

I am a man of sorrows
and acquainted with grief.
The sorrows struck early –
I was a child of a colony
and acquainted with pique,
with ever-ripe resentment
ready to be plucked,
its bitter gall savoured
or spat out at the feet
of the civilised Romans.

I grew up among thorns –
prickly spirited rebels
hugging their grudges tight,
fighting off indifference,
clinging to like-minded types
and shrugging off the rest.
When little seemed to change,
when every saviour fell,
I took what I could get,
of women, wine or wealth.

Then Jeshua came along,
resparked the fire.
A man worth noting,
a cause to consider.
He spoke strange words,
of seeds and pearls and camels–
I didn't understand.
And when the jar was smashed,
and stank of wasted wealth,
the fire sputtered out.

With thirty silver coins
one could do a lot of good.
But who am I trying to kid?
With a thousand coins of gold
you couldn't buy that pearl,
the one I threw away.
Oh yes, I get it now –
the camel and the pearl –
for I am a man of betrayal
and acquainted with greed.