Crucifix

we, who walk with shoulders bent,
leaving bloody footprints in the snow.
our very lives a crucifix, by design,
our hunger unabated by the stars...
pray with calloused hands grimy
with the work of the heart.
whispered deaths lost to the wind,
nothing held back, or denied...

we, who walk with shoulders bent,
leaving bloody footprints in the snow...

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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