A silent breeze sweeps over the mountaintops,
trees swaying in peaceful harmony.
Upon the hill lies the stone Cenacle,
and within it, ultimate chaos.
Surrounded by angry men I sit, as a man who brings
bad news to those who follow.
My robes of blue making me one of them,
those of red setting me apart.
Cries of pain, eyes filled with the look of confusion and betrayal,
looking to and fro, asking “who could it be?”
The pointing of fingers, trust wasting away with every
claim that crosses a man’s lips.
The culprit, sitting by me as I speak,
strains to hide their knowledge of future events.
You’d much rather have gold than trust,
this poor decision to be regretted in the future.
The angry men that surround me give me no guilt,
nor does the look of fear in your eyes.
He who takes the salted bread as confirmation of his deeds
will find himself a different man tomorrow.
For to betray the salt is to betray me.
Based on the the painting The Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci.