THE BLOODY HANDS OF ISCARIOT

Forty pieces of silver has it's allure.
For sure, it could have bought enough
to feed a few and briefly ease their suffering.
But what you were offering was worth so much more.
I see that now. Too late, too late.
You always talked about your Father's will,
but nobody asked me what I wanted.
I wanted to stay and finish my meal.
I wanted to die in the oldness of my age.
I wanted you to be my Brother throughout.
And what I've found out won't change things.
Instead, we fought. I abandoned you.
I betrayed you. Sold you for some pocket change.
And in the end, you were beaten and broken.
Without words spoken, our eyes met and
every opportunity for a second chance
died, nailed to that tree. But I did not see.
Not then; not now. Blood money leaves
a nasty stain on beloved hearts.
I would have changed if I could,
but my fate was predicated,
and vermin like me are easily convinced.
In the end, we're all left hanging.
Does forgiveness come at the end of one's rope?



Walt

NEAR THE ERIE TRACK (The House With None of Us In It)

I do not venture there anymore.
The old homestead near the Erie track
stands in an unrecognizable state.
The tales I’ve been told of our old house are tragic.

The house is empty, a haunted house bears more life.
The sharp contrast cuts like a serrated knife,
shredded, tattered edges and shards of memory
laid to waste and leaving a bitter taste in our mouths.

Generations stacked three high would cry
a collective tear if they went near the Erie track.
In fact, many more would shed when the fact enters their heads
that there’s nobody in the house worth a mention.

I cringe with a strain; a tension winding my spring
until I release and cease to be rational.
A right and traditional home; a suitable sanctuary,
it is scary how quickly it has fallen. It is hard

to imagine a manicured yard and bountiful garden left barren,
I wouldn’t care if the years of my making weren’t taking
their toll on my memory. There is nary a day that goes by
that I do not try to recall her as our domain. All that’s left is pain.

Indeed, she offered us all that a house should, it was good
that warmth and shelter were felt in her embrace.
We played no part in her disgrace; this place is no longer
ours to concern over. We’ve grown stronger in our absence.

I do not venture there anymore. That place,
that house with none of us in it. I do not look back.
　
　
Response to:

"The House With Nobody In It" by Joyce Kilmer


Walt

NIAGARA FALLS ( A RETURN)

Nature's wonder
under the thunder,
over the span of generations
the cascade continues.
One of those venues that
stirs the heart
and moistens the eyes
(and most of your clothes
if the wind takes a turn)
You yearn for the beauty
to capture you, taking
your pulse to feed its frenzy.
Many come to be enchanted,
enhanced by the sheer power
they can stare for hours.
Newlyweds and wannabes,
seek to sneak a peek
on their way to more
intimate locales. Sex sells
but in the shell of the gorge,
the churning is matched
only by the memory it leaves.
Branded upon a romantic heart,
the roar of Niagara remains.
She never leaves you.
You'd be a stooge to not
take refuge in her thunder.
Nature's wonder, Niagara Falls.
Slowly I turn...

Walt