Christ the King

The honest thief

Don’t tell me you are saving me
while we hang here side by side
in searing pain under a searing sun;
don’t talk to me of gardens of ease
where mercy falls down like a river when
it’s plain to see that we are dying.
When all is said and done, I want my miracle,
unwounded, rewound as though
all this had never been.
I do not want the power of the cross.
I want to get down – hang a ram in my place –
let me be.

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