Easter The Gate Poem by James Tipp

Easter The Gate



Crude and awesome
Stands the gate,
Its post wet
With blood and urine,
Stained for all time.
The gift has been rejected
Despised, removed;
The world became black.
Love, real love,
Snuffed out like a candle.
Yet love in all its glory
Returned, restored revived.
The cross still stained
But the death is mine.

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