Passion

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I see your face
in the gathering storm.

Twisting and bent
in the rising wind
my soul groans
under the weight
of your holy pain,

for bloody are my hands!

Thorns, like sin, pierce
my furrowed brow,
and my tears fill
the guilty world.

O forgive me!

I did not see you dying
‘til I cried
scourged with the lash
of my own stinging lies.

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