James Tipp

Rookie - 408 Points (20-06-1945 / East London)

Easter The Gate - Poem by James Tipp

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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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 15, 2009

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