Last updated:
June 1, 2020
Lori M. Cameron, editor
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Help – Cindy L. Beebe

The camera trails an impotent,
earnest hand, collects the wail,
the red-lettered plea.
We see it with television eyes,
how finely it blends
with our uncertainties,
layering the ancient cry
that bruised Your infant ears,
that pounded all Your time-and-space days,
that clung to You on Calvary.
As You know Your own scars,
You know the sound.
It holds, like fire and water,
holds its ground,
its tissue-paper captives.

Jesus, we are all unraveling.
We are all so easily overcome.


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