To mothers everywhere, especially those who have
daughters in the armed services in Iraq.
Such irony. To have a son who is|
Savior to the world, a perfect boy.
To hold him within and around
the center of all circles.
Only to know the agony of His death,
the vilifying of His flesh. Watching
his tortured demise with thorn, cross,
sword. His murderers squatting,
laughing, playing dice.
The piercing agony of such a son!
Prince of worlds, shining upon his
The angel never told of the price for
such privilege, the grating erosion
of such knowing, the wringing death
of such Perfect Heart.