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Sometimes I wonder why everyone
is always so amazed that you were the one
who stayed at the tomb
And how they knew that you were part of the wrong crowd
What if you werenít really?
What if you didnít really want forgiveness,
because you hadnít done anything wrong?
were you, too, forced to be a different, ugly person,
Hounded by gossip and rumors and bathroom door scribblings?
Did the jeers and whispers shove you into a corner
And fence you in with a reputation youíd never escape?
You were branded with a four letter label:
And it was all recorded for posterity in the holiest of books
I am grateful He forgave you
and I am sure He forgave your tormentors as well,
though none of them deserved it.
I can only hope that they will forget
And I can forgive myself.

9 October 1999