The key to my heart was lost--
so much had happened before.
It once was left in the door.
It once was kicked onto the floor.
It sat there for days;
no one bothered to pick it up.
it was jammed one time
the wrong way
and twisted.
The last few times
the key seemed bent,
and my heart resisted.
At long last I went
and changed the lock.
It might be a nasty shock--
but next time--
I have learned,
the right to hold this key
will be earned.
Was his blood even cool
before you dipped in one accusing finger
to paint his character
assassin-red?
And did his self-sacrifice
say nothing to you
of anyone else
that ever bled?
You find the cross
convenient to wear
but watch a fallen man
saying it is
not yours to bear.
You have found your feet
to stand for a lie--
it is the same as
condemning a man to die,
not once,
but twice.
frozen in death,
destroyed by ice.
You carry nails in your pockets
seeking candidates for Calvary
and wash your hands so publicly.
Anathema.
Anathema.
You never-whitened sepulchers,
let the blood stain you
forever.
