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His Cross is Gone


By William Higgins

 

His cross is gone, 

Snatched and rudely torn.
His cross is gone.
The weight is lifted
And set adrift.

His cross is gone,
His burden lifted.
His cross is gone,
His chain is taken.

He’s died again
This second time.
He died again,
When his cross was taken.

All existence is is taking up space,
Burdening the world with physicality.
His shape like a mountain in his bed
Collapsing to a canyon where his cross
Hangs.

His cross is gone.
His last link to me.
His cross is gone.
Maybe he didn’t exist.

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