Zywa
The hand
Self-assured, I hunted
sick persons:
quarantine in Jerusalem
to stop the epidemic
that credulity
in the empty promise
of a place in heaven
and a heaven on earth
But their stubbornness gnawed
futility in my zeal
obscured the light in my head
so that I fell. The sun was spinning
in its halo, clenched
in the hand that pointed to me
to risk my life
with my nicest words
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