Untitled By John Blase | January 10, 2014 | 4 The poem, of course, never saves anybody’s life. Think of it more as a last supper scene, friends and betrayers tucked in close plus a single candle lit. Take and read the bones so broken for you and you and you. The poem, of course, is remembrance. Subscribe to Blog via Email Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Join 1,028 other subscribers Email Address 4 Comments patiricia on January 11, 2014 at 3:54 am Of course… beautiful. Reply wynnegraceappears on January 11, 2014 at 2:37 pm favoriting this in my soul (apparently favoriting isn’t a word :)) I’ll try a noun. This…a fave 🙂 Reply pastordt on January 12, 2014 at 6:29 am Big exhale here. thanks. Reply Demarlo on December 3, 2014 at 10:32 pm At last some ratlnoaiity in our little debate. Reply Leave a Comment Cancel Reply Comment Name (required) Email (will not be published) (required) Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.