Strangers

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“I pray to my own God,” said the Jew to the Christian.

The strangers didn’t care about how I felt

They didn’t care about what I needed

They just wanted to dip me in holy water

Cleanse my spirit with the sweat of Christ

They wanted me to carry a cross

on my shoulders, up a hill

hammer nails into my hands and feet

say I was wrong, repent all my sins

drink blood from a silver chalice

and betray my Jewish ancestors…

But I wanted to be free

I didn’t want to be born again

I didn’t want to rise from the dead

I didn’t want my Father to die

I just want a God I believed in

The only Father I ever knew.

For more about the theme of strangers read Room Full of Strangers, my short story in Smokebox.net.  

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