The American Temple – The Poem
Here is a poem I wrote: Blood drips on the ground silently. Onlookers cringe at the view. Coins spill in the ground wastefully as Christians market something new. Believers look on, appraising without...
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On a jagged hill sprouting life, his followers stood around him remembering his life and brooding over his death. This man from Nazareth was the freshest breeze their bodies and souls had ever inhaled....
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