When the stories begin
of a dying saviour
and a just judge,
I plug my ears with silence.
The same silence I encounter
when I ask in confusion
why forty-two children died
for mocking the anointed.
The anointed served a kind god.
who had two hungry she-bears waiting;
hungry for juicy children flesh.
A snicker was all it took
A spank wouldn't do for god;
forty-two little savours had to die.
The cross was yet to be invented,
so two she-bears would serve justice.
Former mothers couldn’t cry,
for tears would signal evil.
Evil murder of forty-two children
who sinfully mocked the anointed.
@originalworks
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I liked the word choice there to expand the criticality of the moment you describe. Good work, Keep writing.
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I'm glad you like the poem
It means a lot to me
Thanks
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