Saturday, April 07, 2012

Mary




My firstborn son is dead.


I have already lost the man who sheltered me, who raised my son as his own; have already released his hands, so gentle and so strong, to the grave.


And now my son.


They pierced his heart.  They pierced my heart in that moment, too.  Time might heal the wound, but its scar will last for all time...


My firstborn son is dead.



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