I Know it’s Hard for You

I know it’s hard for you: I clearly see all you believe

is born of who you are, so I’ve tried to keep an open heart.

Your daddy was his father’s son; and so the story goes---

now their Biblical sins swim in tribal blood. That rage,

that roar, your gleaming sword, your invective diatribe is born

of a cringing primordial fear: the loss of lands and herds,

the threat of slave revolts, nightmares of your women

opening their legs to dark intruders in the dust.

Man is afraid, and religions are made for that.

But the woefully narrow path is no place to get off the back

of the tiger, friend. And herein I sense your inner struggle.

And I know it’s hard for you: trying to shield your children’s eyes

from the vulgar spectacle of a mad king’s charade

while embarked, as you are, upon his imperiled journey.

All hands have been called to his rolling decks

in a death-grip to keep his sails set and his ship’s bow

pointed south, down toward the foggy rocks

where the sirens wail their cryptic chorus:

that chilling, desperate call

to his morally flawed

higher ground.

Yes, I know it’s hard for you: reconciling him to

your Christ, who was cast so perfect and all, yet went to

turning over tables in the marketplace to inflate his brand

among the homeless and the poor.

Still, the story just wouldn’t be the same, would it,

if he had not had to carry first

that heavy cross they nailed him to?

My hope is: you won’t forget this little spiritual fact.

In any event…I know it’s hard for you.  

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