God
fires His thorns; an angel palm bleeds
and
rains gold oil on earth's grey shores.
The
pure hosts drift in robes of flesh
to
rest with man when doubt chars grace.
Their
mystic words kiss hearts signed by truth
the
mortal mask peels as mauve gauze parts.
Love
beams its gaze; a hush drapes skies
Wings
hone new gems from lakes of tears.
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