Altars come and go,
one made to take life,
another of stones,
twelve to be exact,
the most holy place
inside the Temple
once here, but no more.
Earth's meeting places,
intersecting paths
of raw human need
God's gracious grace,
desperate pleading,
undeserved healing,
miracles everyone.
Worn out wooden rails,
stained with wet tears,
bearing heavy sins,
lifetimes of regret
and deepest sorrows,
but nary a one,
like Christ's Calvary.
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