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help is in order -
you and i still screaming each other sick
like twin fathers. one
who wishes to surrender his church
to the rust and the other hastening
to restore it:
stone, metal and all.
many nights i
fail to tell apart one from the other,
tell apart the resurrection
from the ruin. i
and you both picking up and
at loose ends of temple rubble
and made to snivel at what
could have been.
there are pieces here we keep
that need be thrown away.
there are pieces here we leave behind
that need be kept.
I use "God" a lot for my titles. But this one is rather apt for now. It lacks the power I want from a poem entitled "God," but it's true. And truth sometimes is all that needs to count.
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