A fourteener —

The sun shines down on a quiet town today, Saturday.
The Lord has died for the thousandth time as he does each year,
and I am here again, oblivious to what it means,
as to why a man of great power would die on the cross
for millions who could care less, who just lay around like me.
And tomorrow he will rise again, signalling new life –
I wonder what has really changed if change occurs at all.
What does this Saturday mean, or is it black just because?

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