A Shalom Valentine

As scarlet as fresh death, soon scorched into
unwelcome stains.
Dismaying red tape over which we stumble.
A red flag waving peril over us.
Ruby blood of the innocent slaughter
that paved a white lace bridge.
It’s quiet, like the held breath of fallen snow.
It sparkles, you know, with beautiful effervescence.
To tread upon it; going up, up, with a
blanket of peace around your shoulders; milk light.
It is a miracle.
It is shalom.
No more impossible distance.
You must stand on the blood stains to find it.
Not the mind-numbing, reality-blocking sedative.
This peace is present. Intelligent. Protective. Kind.
White like the softest lamb fur.
Going from red to white—that’s God’s style.
It starts with a December baby.
Taking us from red to white.

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