The Circus

They juggle ideology and guns like grim-faced jokers at a circus. Believe or die. Money can’t buy men like that, with murder strapped to their chest and convictions running red. So you’ll fight fire with fire till the whole world burns. Like slaves squabbling backstage for land and life. Like dust grasping for immortality. But eternity has no birth. Truth is a Word, and He says I AM.  Cast your knives and walk the wire, but He’s written the last act. Truth is a Word, and He became flesh. It is finished. He bled,

to cut the cord of death.

100 words. 

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