Good Friday

I tell you Centurion, you tell me to do wrong
Every man deserves his own cross
There's pain written in that twisted timber
And you bid me recycle, save the coinage
So I can render to Caesar

The man has done me no harm yet I am
Furnishing the means of his destruction
When I would as lief be making furniture
For rich Centurions the like as you
So I can render to Caesar

So went the day...

And the work of my hands stood
Six hours of agony for him...

I cannot render to Caesar
No more...

Pooka MMVIII

http://www.psychomanteia.com/GoodFriday.jpg

Bravo, Pooka. Absolutely your best yet. Write more, it is wonderful. The word just soothe my aching head, for some reason.

havin a nice ham for dinner tonite! cant wait!