Easter 2016 by Cath Blackfeather

I am not a silent poet

So, they still come,
Tramping in their thousands
Around the edges of your civilization.

You say HE came among us
And suffered for our sins.
HE died so we may live forever. You sing your hymns and thank your God.

You, standing behind your razor wire,
Did you notice, as they stumble past your jeers,
The crown of thorns that sends
A dark trickle down the sweat of that man’s face?
Did you see, under the bulky
Charity-given coat,
The wound in that woman’s side?
This child, who sleeps under a tree in the freezing rain,
Outflung arms and small body twisted
In a familiar pose.

You still want them to die
So we may live forever.

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