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Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul -- Matthew 10:28 Skin me alive. I値l be inside. And you値l not even have scratched my surface. Rip out my insides: I will still abide somewhere deeper than in the pit of my stomach. Lop off my head and more. I致e lost my head before, yet always found a way to collect myself. Grind my bones to make your bread. I値l rise like yeast from the dead, exuding a heavenly aroma you値l have to breathe. Fee fie fo fum. You致e smelled my blood. You値l make it run -- but not me, not me. by Albert Cipriani |
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Bio:
Albert Cipriani, a former newspaper reporter, photojournalist, magazine editor, and English teacher now lives with his wife, Janice, and four goats on three acres in a Southern Californian canyon. He is a technical writer for the computer industry and an apologist for orthodox Catholic issues in Catholic journals such as The Angelus and The Remnant, on his Catholic website, and through his religious philosophy newsletter. His poetry has been published in The Acorn, New Improved Mushrooms, and The Remnant.
his web site his Religious Philosophy group |
ｩ Copyright 2004 by Albert Cipriani
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