Poem

THE EDIFACE

 

 

The edifice was not homely; otherworldly, perhaps

Adorned with towering maps with this gentle longing

Far gentler than the things we know or think we should

And he was the one and only; for really it was only he that could

“We don’t know what to think, but we must explore”; it’s what we had in common

There the sameness stops; there the bullet drops; there the spiral unwinds

And the more he learned of us with the passage of time, we were unkind, yet he denied

To become one of us.

 

 

 

 

I am the true Christian.

My church is not one of stone and denial

To be put on trial, dragged down an aisle

And put dying flesh on my tongue, glued to it like wax

Call me lax, undedicated, and biblically uneducated

I am no Paul.

I have seen it all.

 

 

 

 

In the millions of stars, their gasses flaming, scathing the darkness

He put one foot down, then two; I think he did it for me and you

Onto the craft he assimilated, unintimidated, not knowing the end

“Do not give us away” his Father said, “Or I may come down and use force instead!”

But he was a good man; good men come from a good race, and maybe far adrift in space,

This happens to be more commonplace.

They were primitive and peculiar, not secular and unspectacular

The ride was long, he was worn down and drawn out like blood

Seeping through cracks of the crosses they hung;

Of not one but many; of the innocent and guilty, a’plenty-

Dare I say he came here for love?

Dare I say he got none?

And dare I contend if he came back to amend-

That the apes would tear his words again and again.

If he rose from the dead; if he fell from the dead

If he walked on fire and turned the oceans red

What would come in the end?

A foolish gown?  A royal crown?

A set of decrees from an epileptic clown?

Murders of thousands?  Oppression of millions?

Thank the greatest force if there be a force greater than I

That the craft took him back into the sky

For he will not come back.

He need not come back.

He’ll never come back.

 

 

 

Assuming his words said here were meant as exact

How foolish, how ghoulish we react but don’t enact

For his love we could never give back.

We build him buildings

He wasn’t known for his architectural prowess;

So of course we read a book

But was there any advice of his that we ever took?

 

 

It landed in a remote, dry land, far from the eyes of man

His comrades hoped his Father was right; represent us well

Peace is our birthright

We have lived aeons in peace

Why come to this place, and let it cease

But he was the king’s son

He was a brave prince

They had no place to question; they were convinced

But they thought in their heads, flying the ship back home, going to bed-

Why do we need these bipedal forms with heads?

We are scientists, we are lovers, surely we’ve been misled?

Why help a people so lost; we’ve viewed them afar with no cost

Why send someone we love out, through a wormhole, no less

Simply to be put under endless duress

But maybe these things will learn, cure their own cancer.

It’s been thousands of years.

Unfortunately his comrades have an answer.

 

 

So he exited the ship, a hovering thing if you will

He had prepared for this thing, had mastered his skill

The clothes were artificially worn, the beard grown out

He had undergone endless trials, succeeding past doubts

They had made him look like these things he’d encounter

Had spent so much time perfecting it, hours and hours

His actors were already sent out, his mother, his brothers

His dedicated friend by a river, among many others

He later thought at his throne far away

How much he regretted ever leaving the ship on that day.

 

And even he, some other race and new face,

Even he questioned, and pondered: What shall I say?

Will I be here for more than a day?

How do I tell them of us, of what they could be-

I have studied them endlessly, but could they believe

Of anything I utter, that sputters from my mouth

Not defiled like theirs, yet not weighing an ounce

Would it be worth it to them?  Is it worth it to me?

I have seen them go from cave to sea;

I have seen them unclothed and seen their jewelry-

But in the end, what happens to me?

 

 

Glory to the moons, the stars, but not to him, and what he had to face?

Everything he did aeons ago to bring peace;

Even my race is not up to pace, though we share the same face;

Even unto my race these beings can deliver disgrace

This is why I must see their holy place

This is why they must know my face.

I am the true Christian.

I do not partake in the ritual

The slaughter and the sacrifice

The inborn sickness perpetuated by avarice

When he said I will make you fishers of men

When he said you are my brother, my mother, my friend

He was not being brainless; it is not painless to love

It is not painless to be good and to rise above;

I suppose some need a creed to tell them about love

I suppose some need to feel guilty to feel love

But the greatest force if there be a force greater than I

Would scoff at them all, would laugh, as they load their rifles

And bow down and worship their idols

And chant a thousand times over, taking no action-

I would pay good money to see his reaction!

Ye hypocrites, ye pharisees, go away

Ye romans, ye catholics, fall away

Ye protestants, you hypocrites, have your day

But I’m sorry, all, I am no Paul.

I’ve seen it all.

 

 

And so he walked for days, wandering in his mind

Thinking about who were his kind

Surely he could not discriminate, intimidate the weak

The ones whose futures were often most bleak

He took in twelve at random, scanned them

For he had studied the mind and it was no pain to hand them

Himself and his gifts, he taught them in a way he knew how

For he knew their language, the insides and outs

And he didn’t want to be known for his literary prowess

But they grasped at his words like man grasping mistress

And wrote some things down; they are long buried now

For his words are not dogma in the way dogma is found

For his words could not be confined to some book passed around

For what he let out was love, and words are mere sound

Flowing and falling, deep in the ground.

 

 

I think his true message resides in the clouds

Not on some shroud or miracles that astound

Made up by writers building up from the ground

A religion of treason to Trump reason un-allowed, though said aloud;

To copy words upon words;

But words are mere sound.

 

 

Death is not final, some sort of end signal

His people knew this from the beginning, though unbelievable

But why put a finger on it, why define it, dissect it

Degrade the Divine into parts and inspect it

Is not all we have now; worry not for tomorrow?

Why bother the contemplation; is it born out of sorrow?

Everyone wants to put a hand on the undefinable

Run it through their fingers, like freshly made vinyl

Define, define, classify, and assort

And so to this behavior the humans resort

The apes with a forebrain; the beast with two thumbs

Yet at this ghastly sight, he did not run

He sat at the table, drank wine and was able

To look in the eyes the face of betrayal

It was not meant to be so cinematic, so problematic

Yes, yes, he had anticipated dying, perhaps it seemed tragic

But missions have posed problems before, and problems are dealt with,

By then he had said enough to this species to assist.

He had given them the most he had to give, what he had believed

What his race had relied on, to give them reprieve

The technology incredible, the advancement unfathomable-

If he were to die, was a resurrection irreconcilable?

They did it all the time, if the time was too soon

Surely his comrades could swoop down and then he resume;

Maybe he was ready though; for a new body, a new name-

A new universe, to escape this terrestrial fame

And with the kiss that nearly missed;

He redirected him and said this:

“Do not be ashamed by this kiss;

For it is only happiness for you that I wish,”

And as he swung from a tree, his fearful mortality reigning

In his mind these words kept replaying

But he never wrote it downs in words

For words are no more than mere sound

And sound gets buried in the ground.

 

 

 

I am the true Christian.

I will be burned and whipped

Flog me and call me liar! liar!

We will throw you in the fire!

I say put me with Dante and all his lies

Maybe I’ll see the pope there; or potpourri of people wanting to compromise;

For you are a pagan, you are a greek;

Your virgin birth a cover for sexual freak

Some need to feel guilt to feel love;

Some need to believe lies to avoid imagined floods

Others apocalyptic jargon and sacred doves

I do not need that; I am free from that;

I don’t know why; but I don’t question why

And of all the details of his departure;

The whole story; need you see it?

Need you know the deepest secrets?

Are they not kept secrets for a reason?

To let one wonder in awe above all reason?

And so empires rise and quickly reach demise

And so Zeus dies and Mithras dies

But love is only for the wise

Can only penetrate the whorish eyes of the most wise

And to summarize, I wear no disguise

Do not label my heart or miss a sunrise-

Do not feel weak or perverted or lesser nor high-

I simply am and will be for most time

I may meet him, but then again, all in due time

I may die tomorrow or exist for all time

And have trouble creating an enthralling last line.

Bu let this rise and fall;

Let it be a squall;

Then nothing at all.

For, I am no Paul,

For I’ve seen it all.

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