Since we could not take the brutality of bodies hanging from oak trees

we are now asked to accept the subtly of a barrage of endless shots.

“If you do this, then you won’t get got.”

Not

realizing that placating pain is insane.

We die. We cry. Oh well.

In our death dress, cloaked in stress.

Enshrined in lines from verses. “Father, forgive them…”

Go ahead, God. Forgive them. I don’t. I won’t — pretend

that sin ends in a place that scurries from Know, stifles Grow.

There are seeds to sow. Rise and open your eyes.

Beware of disguises. Masks moved. It behooves

us not to be complacent with cowards. We will not remain

downcast in doubt and defeat. We look up. We look ahead.

Know that

onward we march. Forward we go.