7-23 Son Day

When I have enough sense to focus and fix upon our triune God, this occurs:

 

Pax Christi

 

Good Friday is over, its requiem.

Your sacred soul, piercéd by hate—

We celebrate each Passover.

This death and darkness? You obliterate!

 

Saturday: Bradford Pears and Dogwoods bloom;

Serenades of songbirds resonate.

The hour of nails, of bloody gloom

Is dead. Your sacred heart:

 

I contemplate.

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