Friday, March 11, 2016


I curled around,
His callused feet -
They hated me.
They called me:
A foolish woman;
A lazy dreamer;
And even a whore...

I cried as I opened,
My precious scent,
And poured out my,
Life's accumulation;
Softening his soles,
And filling the room,
With the foreshadow,
Of ultimate victory,
Over death's stench.

I cried as I prepared,
My beloved, my friend,
My master, my Lord,
For his funeral...

~ Tiwago

(from John 12)

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