Crucifixion: I. Thirty Pieces

Submitted by Kyleigh on Wed, 02/29/2012 - 13:51

{this was inspired by my recent readings of the Gospels. I noticed how we often gloss over the events of the week before Jesus died, and don't realize the weight of them because we know what comes after. I was reading a chapter a day, and in Matthew and Mark (maybe Luke, too, I haven't gotten there yet) - there's a chapter that ends and when I finished reading I felt almost terrified - Peter just denied Jesus, Jesus is being taken away, it seems like all hope is gone - and then to keep going, and the events that follow are chilling - consider the darkness, the earthquake, the curtain being torn, the possible blood moon, the shouting and then weeping crowds. This poem in 6 parts is a meditation on that all. At this point, I'm planning on posting one canto a month, mostly because I haven't written anything new lately, so I'm trying to stretch out what I do have while I edit and re-write. Speaking of which, I'm considering taking the Victorious Trilogy and Whatever Happens off of ApricotPie because I've changed them so much... and would love to make a move on getting them published (the trilogy, that is)}.
So without further ado... 


In the joy of the Resurrection,
Do we forget the execution,
And the fear after His arrest,
When His disciples failed the test?

Stop a moment and consider the days,
When they didn’t know His Son He would raise,
Like sheep with no shepherd they scattered,
Because they’d forgotten what mattered.

We forget how it’d be
After He was hung on the tree,
If we didn’t see the other side of the grave,
Think about it – He did it all to save.

But what were those days like while He was tried,
                                                   and when He died,
                                       and in the tomb He did abide.

Come to the scriptures and see
What made His followers flee -
Why the disciples feared
When what they’d given all for – disappeared.

He rode the donkey, and the people were glad,
Now where is the allegiance they had?
He came into Jerusalem greeted with joy
Why now is He the one they seek to destroy?

              “[Judas] went to the chief priests and said, “What will you give                                             me if I deliver him over to you?” And they paid him thirty                                                  pieces of silver. And from that moment he sought an                                                                     opportunity to betray him.”

For one of the twelve, named Judas Iscariot,
Sold Jesus for silver, and then died by lariat.
‘Woe to the one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed!’
Thirty pieces was not a worthy trade.

Author's age when written


 I've thought of something like that too, during a study on Psalm 22. But your thoughts rhymed. You taught me a new word (lariat), by the way. I look forward to the rest.

Also, if you take down the versions on the site, you should save them somewhere first so you can look back. :)

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

This is a beautiful poem, and very thought provoking. I love it.

"My greatest wish for my writing is that it would point you to the Savior."

 This poem made me think and was very beautiful!! Even my dad was impressed and after reading this poem, he said that I could create an account. I love it!


"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson

 Anna: an online rhyming dictionary taught it to me. I needed something that rhymed with Iscariot. Yes, I definitely have old versions saved. I saved everything when AP was going to close and just recently have saved new comments. 

Arthur: Thank you. :) 

Lucy Anne: Thank you, and welcome to ApricotPie! I look forward to reading your writing! I read your 'about' page and we have a lot in common! :) 

Your Welcome! My dad laughed when he found out that the word, "lariat" was a noose. Yes, I know, we DO have alot in common!

"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson