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I Cross... If anyone wants to come after me, let him  deny himself, Radical surrender, Becoming the bridge, A turning point... I did not paint a symbol,   I painted a memory.   A wound that learned to shine,   A question shaped in wood.   This cross is not a plea alone—   It’s my whisper to the silence,   My fire stitched in quiet lines,   My hope, refusing to fold.  

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Sickness of Dawn, pastel,

la Rock