A firm hand bleeds on bristle deeds horns of a crime now stale
From doubts seeds grow thistle weeds, thorns to tear hope's veil
Red stains on martyr fingers lingers pulling strangling plants
Soil wet with blood and sweat from a savior in farmer's pants
Crucified on his hoe so plants will grow in earth broken
His word unheard in dust interred, torn lost in the unspoken
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: January 10th, 2026 03:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Online)
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