Gethsemane's silent

In Gethsemane's silent, moonlit glade, Where shadows dance and faiths are weighed, A silver glint, a whisper thin, Marks the start of sorrow's hymn. Beneath the olive's ancient bough, Where heaven's light does softly bow, A heart once close to holy fire, Now bends to greed's cruel desire. The coins, they clink with hollow cheer, A symphony of boundless fear, For thirty pieces, dreams are sold, And love is left to fade and fold. In that moment, frail and grim, Where loyalty and light grow dim, A kiss is placed, a friend betrayed, In that act, a trust is frayed. Oh, Judas, in your haunted gaze, Reflects the grief of countless days, The weight of sin, the soul’s despair, Echoes through the night’s cold air. Yet, in your fall, we see our plight, The human heart, a flickering light, A fragile flame in darkened times, Wrestling with its countless crimes. The tears that fall, like morning dew, Are not just yours, but ours too, For in your story, we all find, The sorrow of a wayward mind. In the silence, after dawn, Where hope and anguish both are drawn, The kiss of Judas lingers still, A reminder of our fragile will. May we find in love’s embrace, The strength to face our own disgrace, And in forgiveness, seek the way, To rise again, to find the day.