The Sword

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The Sword
The old words cry out
as your wounds
pour forth your spirit:
The sword you use to pierce another
must first pass through
your own heart.
Dismas groans in rebuke,
“We murderers, we deserve to die,
but this man is innocent.”
The Most High cries,
“The blood of Abel–your brother, Abel–
cries out to me from the ground.”
The bulls of Bashan
encompass you about,
the bulls, their mouths open.
You see me looking upon you

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