To Escape From These Things. Part 2

Contrived.

A monument to God,

as my Father would say.

Like pornography for capitalists

you lure in the half-hearted

by elevating them above the filth of existence.

Persistence,

built your business,

so keep in mind

that you tricked your kind by being garish,

lining your pockets with the bourgeoisie of your parish.

A harbor from friction,

the sickly pink hues of your walls scream of fiction.

Wrapping yourselves in your own sense of virtue.

Save yourselves in a flagrant swell

as if numbers alone spared your souls from hell.

Never was comeliness so overdone,

more phony than Lucifer

cast from the sun.

And how can you sanction,

your actions so quick

building your spires to Babel

with life from the sick

and the poor

with wealth never your’s.

So contrived,

your marble pews have lied,

leading them inside.

This

isn’t

why

Jesus

died.


While Chained To A Fence.

He died.
While chained to a fence,
they slowly beat him with the backs of their guns
until he was blind.
Chains linking to a chain-linked fence,
hanging there crying
he froze forever.

Papers recounted impersonal facts
Community harbors disdain pertaining to local hate crime.
Conveying their best in passionless jargon,
but allowing the reader leeway
to see how very terrified the boy must have been.
They couldn’t say that he pissed his pants though.
How could they have known?

And then all of our shortcomings were unmistakable.
The entire reputation of Jesus Christ was being paraded
on a fourteen inch piece of cardboard
clutched between his bony hands.
And as his clenched fist quivered above the rabble
his trembling lips may well have been barking the word “nigger”,
or “gook”, or “spick”.
Instead he clung to his own axiom,
that God hates fags.

And how implausible,
the unrelenting carelessness
that someone would actually picket at the funeral,
of a boy who had been chained to a fence
and beaten to death with guns.
His righteousness was never in question,
a kindred transgressor
his reckoning would be with God like the rest of us.

So wave high your signs,
you self-possessed sirens of rancor.
You who have taken the entire obligation
of our savior upon yourself,
but forgotten... salvation.

 

 

 

 

*click here if  you have remembered salvation.