And with each passing day
he shoulders the weight,
as if he were the only strongman
left in his own heart's circus-
there will be more stiff breezes,
and more Spring blankets to chase;
but there will be no more Maggies
to catch them on the fly.
and with each passing year
he cradles the memories,
as if he were the only gatekeeper
left to tend the garden.
there will be more silent dances,
and more Summer chances to take;
but there will be no more Maggies
to seal them up good and proper.
and with every passing moment
we carry the burden of proof;
as if we were so immune
to such as such...
Pilate is doomed to clean his rifle forever-
The walls will not forget these nights.
If you decided to brave the waters of sanctioned terror,
Be sure to wear your Christ;
Should you decided to share your scraps
of hard-won Gospel,
Sharpen your sword against the bars.
Our hearts are forced to cry out
for the rocks that bury you,
We cannot hid in the folds
of our Thanksgiving dinners,
The building fund will not spare you
one ounce of punishment,
If it would mean your freedom,
we can live without the carpeting.
And you who would keep our brothers
far from their families,
I would not get so comfortable-
The God I choose to serve has been
moved to righteous anger,
You will not treat His children like cattle.
(Author's personal note to those
who find comfort in repression:
While you were so busy filling
your filthy holes with saints,
I did a little work on your geography-
All your misguided roads now lead to Damascus.)
