Shadow Footsteps (a poem)

Underneath the cold, hard ground
I found the key to my soul
And I praised the gods of winter
Who enjoy the dead trees
And fallen leaves that rustle
Like shadow footsteps

In dark nights of lore
The high priests were astounded
By the teenage Jesus
No one believed us
When we saw him heal the blind men
In the sticky subway station

But that’s the way of the world
Never totally safe for boys and girls
Like us, and the crucifixions
Happening daily in American cities

It’s a pity we must go to die
But heaven waits on the other side

(Photo by Nicole Johnson on Unsplash)

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