“Where now, is there a place for me
To flee to from the righteous?
I stirred up Death to slay the Apostles,
That I might be safe from their blows.” – St. Ephrem the Syrian

All shades of doubt retain a crimson wound –
The one that goes the deepest. Take my case:
The child inevitably takes the place
The man will yield. Judea, stones in hand,
Was ready for him. Urged to take a stand
At every minute of my life, my face
Was set against theirs, poised to hold its ground:
“Where he dies – there’s where death and I embrace!”

These words still smart my ears and search the space
My mangled feet have walked. The miles pierce
And flay my pride. Humility’s made peace,
Though, with its twin – and knows there’s certain ground
To cover. Probing empire’s final end,
I’ve no doubt about where it’s to be found.