(x = space)

x

x

True Cross

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It doesn’t matter

Anything

Going around

One by one by one

By two

Will serve

It is a symbol of rude

Death

An execution of

No one

In particular

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Ancient Egyptians,

Romans

Not-so-ancient Nazis

Executed criminals

This way,

Leaving displays

To teach

The rest

This is how much

We care

Should you deviate

From imperial

Reasoning

And the protection

We afford

The laity

x

Add it

To the trash heap

On the outskirts

Of the city

Add two thieves

Say all were

Detriments

To the local good

Hung by lies,

They die

x

Should any

Die in faith

Even in a final

Moment,

Knowing for the living

That goes down in

Consternation

(was the

death-bed profession

real?)

That is,

Thankfully,

Not our job to

Manage

x

Two thieves might

Have gone

(their remains)

To a potter’s field

The third

Into a borrowed tomb,

Lent by faith

Itself and love

x

So put two sticks

Together,

There’s a cross

True enough

For residence of

Faith

A common symbol

Even less

No superiority

To go

This way,

To carry into life

Nothing special,

Child of God

Like the one

Like anyone

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C L Couch

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Photo by David Libeert on Unsplash

Kortrijk, Belgium

The Cross

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