Hanging in the Wind
He ran along the street
sweat coming from his brow,
hoping not to meet
someone whom he knew.
The money he had won
which he cast upon the ground,
bought the Eternal Son
now bought a field for the nameless dead.
At last he found the tree
where he thought he could,
by hanging himself become free
of the guilt he held within.
Throwing the rope over the branch and tying,
across the valley to the other side,
the women of Jerusalem were heard crying
for the Savior of the world too was hung,
not by rope to the Tree
but by nails through His Flesh.
He had to hurry to end his misery
he could not bear site
of the God-man he sold
for thirty pieces of silver,
not more than 33 years old
in the prime of His life.
Not because he felt sorry for his sin
did Judas hurry with the rope and jumped,
there hanging in the wind
he looked across the valley
To where the Cross stood tall on a hill.
Christ's Blood ran forth for man
he did not ask for forgiveness still
in despair he went.
The greatest tragedy
of the man called Judas
is that he could have been
Saint Judas.
This poem is inspired by the writings of Fulton J. Sheen in his book Life of Christ.
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