A troubled man once wrote:
“To be or not to be –
that is the question.”
Ever since his quill hit the linen
those words have wafted
through the air –
portrayed on raised stages
whispered by the lost
cried through tears of despair.
And once they were mine as well.
Today I pray a request
to flip that script toward light:
“Oh my dear God, may I be
freed from the Judas in me.”
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