Today I found Iscariot's rope -
Bloodied and frayed from overuse;
False camaraderie is still a crime the world commits.
Thirty pieces of silver offer no recompense,
Do nothing to alleviate the guilt.
They sit, heavy in the pockets of the damned
Replacing the secrets a modern-day Judas was to keep.
The Potter's Field has been fertilised
With idle gossip, and the accomplishments of the unwary.
The silver churned through the dirt, relishing the tarnish it had bought.
And yet, the rope swings above,
Never without the weight of someone's reputation.
Patiently it hangs; it is a lesson never learnt.