“Luke 22:21 KJV only”

Beneath the lamplight’s trembling gleam, they gathered—twelve and one,  
The bread grown soft, the cup passed round, their final meal begun.  
A hush—then Jesus’ somber gaze, with Galilean grace,  
Fell gentle on the threatened peace that flickered on each face.

“The hand that now betrayeth me,” He spoke with measured breath,  
“Is with me at the table—fate already braced for death.”  
Outside, the Passover moon climbed high on old Jerusalem,  
While friendship’s fragile covenant grew thin upon the limb.

O Judas, in your shadowed heart, what storm began to stir?  
Did bread between your fingers weigh like hope grown cold and blur?  
The silver hidden in your sleeve, the kiss in secret planned—  
Yet here, you sup beside the One who formed you with His hand.

The others whisper, hearts aghast, and search each face anew,  
“Lord, is it I?” the query falls in prayerful, frightened hue.  
Yet Love still offers broken bread, a pledge of peace to come,  
And mercy circles, even as the hour draws near and numb.

O table scene immortalized in every hopeful soul,  
Where treachery and grace entwine and costly mercies roll.  
Luke’s words remain, like evening stars that neither fade nor flee:  
“Behold, the hand that betrayeth me is with me at the table—here with me.”

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems