I came at you
with my thick skull raised
as a shield
and my tongue unsheathed
as a ready sword,
yet you came to me
with a mouth full of flowers,
speaking peace as petals
fell at my feet
with each gentle word.
And when I screamed my war cry
you did but bow your head
and overpower me
with empty, upturned palms
whose stigmata bled
untouched by blade or thorn;
bleeding as if to say
“If you have wish of blood,
take of mine,
for in palming it
you may open the door
to Heaven on earth.”
And I took of that blood,
hand in hand with you,
and never have I
been able to hold sword or gun or
dagger again, but must let slip
all things
brandished in fist and fury.
Now only flowers reside there,
thorns in palms
and petals opening toward others
as yours opened toward me.

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