Copyright 2009

Beautiful, bountiful and life full.
Like burnished bronze, they glow in fleecy radiation.
Though little five when numbered, they are
A cipher into which the earth's greatest offering is knitted
The only mortal mould to shine in the immortal word.

On second appearance, I won't dart a glance
But glue sight on ornate fountains of sin-deter-agent.
A refinery sport of filthy death to refined life in eternity.
Brimful of desire, on wheels of Christ branded love, I will thread
Through the throng of saints to enjoy a feeling, if permitted.

They are not tattoos! But tassels on the ushering arch into the
Glamorous golden city, sited on twelve glittering foundations.
Not mere marks of bruise! But a Holy decoration of authority that
Cause all creations to bow down in absolute submission.
The quaint sacred scars are not only rubbers of doubt,
But a high way to life after life.

By Henry Samuel Mello
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