Red eggs in my palm and I squint at them, remembering:
who is this child?
What Man is this that slays
down his life
for his strangers--
who lay sleeping in the brush when we are dancing around His head.
Shalome. Are you yet the Messiah?
Condemn me, red egg. Do not die for me.
Do not descend into that dark place for me. I cannot lift your Cross.
What Justice? What Mercy?
What God? What God?
Who Are You, that carries thorns without promise of roses,
that Redeems without reasurrance of repentance?
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