So bright the sun
my eyes
do squint.
Can barely see
what’s out
ahead of me.
Three crosses
on a hill?
The path is steep.
Ground is rough.
Air is hot.
Wind is still.
Far beyond
the only town
for miles around.
You know the story.
I’m sure you do.
A thinking man,
a caring man,
a giving man,
and pair of desperate thieves
nailed, they were,
up on those boards
to shrivel in the sun.
That winding path,
it goes right by.
Take lesson,
the crosses say,
You’ll not want
to take their course.
Be not desperate.
Be not wise.
Stead heed the words
our King is said.
And, what was the plight
of those who did?
Heed the words
that King did said?
Who took up swords
to slay the wise
and all the desperate
woeful, too?
Did grass begin to grow?
And rains begin to fall?
Did goats give milk?
And sheaves yield bread?
Was reason born to
dance and sing?
And hug the ones
we love?
And did a wall
protect us all?
I shield my eyes.
My head dost ache.
I know true well
this world is cracked
and gushing blood.
I cannot help but see
that King of yore,
and all Kings hence,
have made a
stinking mess.
And, here we are,
the lot of us,
diminished
and grown weak,
so very very weak.
What was it that that
thinking, caring,
giving man,
strung up up
on cross
did say?
I’m sorry, but it’s lost.
Though, thinking,
caring, giving
is still a course
each one of us
could take.
Desperate men,
and women too,
so in abundance
across this land,
No King’s words
or bloodied swords
have ever
appeased their
tearful fearful
anguished woes.
And yet, there’s chance
a thinking, caring,
kind and giving man,
or woman,
might still invent
a cure?
Three empty crosses
on a hill,
invariably recall
that story
sad but true.
Testament, you see.
This world all cracked
and bleeding blue
has yet to meet
a sorely needed
host of healing lovers,
wise and kind
and true.
|
Monday, March 12th, 2018
Bullhead City
AZ
USA
|
