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.