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A Poem for Good Friday 2018
- Emma Joy Benis
- Mar 30, 2018
- 1 min read
Why, in love
does one forget
the pyre he claims
to hold?
Is it time
vitiating heat and
masking intent
with the rust of silence?
Or is it the
self
and the pine of black eyes
which mold granite truths
to sand?
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