Semana Santa

by allisonkujiraoka

A New Day dawned,

but a sadness remained.

Victory’s triumphant path

lay in tatters, strewn with

the bruisings of betrayal

and a coward’s weak will.

The waxing of terror

and the waning of ardor.

The sear of separation,

the excruciating interim…

It was Hell.

And then, scars for a souvenir

–a permanent fixture–

Open wounds with no closure.

It all throws into stark relief

the fragility of our belief

Behind salvation, a wall of grief.

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