"We sat in our pajamas on the couch under a blanket and did what you do on Sunday nights. We watched a rerun of Columbo." And something about it made me worship.
Into Death Like His
I followed them, the restless, jeering lot, Down dusty, well-worn paths outside our town. Not even clamoring taunts and wails could drown The anguished cries of whip-flailed flesh now shot Clean through with nails. Him? Him whom I had sought For so long, pining for his peace? His crown Did not resemble one due him, … Continue reading Into Death Like His