It was the day of the hammer
The day of the nail
It was the day of the storm
And of the earthquake
For how could the earth
Not shudder and crack
With the blood of its maker
Spilled upon it?
And we huddled in our homes
Beneath the bruise-black sky
And waited for creation
To burn us for blasphemy
And the earth did open
Beneath we, the accursed
But out of the depths
Came not fire, or water
But our beloved, who were dead
Now quickened,
And laughing
And running to embrace us.
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