Monday, April 28, 2014

One of my poems: Feel the Stones Cry

Feel the Stones Cry

Man on the cross,
            on your sweet light of love I ask:
Can Your Holy Blood save us
            from those that rise against the truth in their souls,
and with encamped minds rebuff all
            that refuse to bow to their lies?

Are you hurting, Christ,
            for evangelists that push around Your Father's name
as a mop to clean the dungeons of their hypocrisy
                        as if You came to glorify their deeds,
and be for them a candy man?
If not profanity, what is it to say and do
            not as You,            
who ousted those that bartered crux for coins
                        in Your Father's name.
Did you make them lords over the earth and life?
Same as those that now use Your Flesh
            as fuel to fill their coffers,
and give credence to fickleness that defiles
            Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
while offering rapture as a scrub
to wipe clean platforms, and parlors
            of their deemed chosen.
Is nothing sacred
            to those who use Your teachings to build religions
as pigeons make nests from waste? 
            Laude cults that divide
and using Your words cannibalize to justify

Those that with disregarding hearts
            bring to the pews their egos
as if You are a cash cow
            that gives them power to sell salvation
                        and stomp on scruples.
Does your Passion bleed
for those that arrogantly declare, “I own the saving words”
            and promise tickets to witness by candlelight
Your Father's children burn in righteous genocide?
At the foot where blood drips from thorns,
            do stones cry for those that Christianize
and conserve not values, or reverence for Him,
            but put You on the pool table of their greed
as a nine-ball in the pocket of redemption.
Is it possible that You rebuked temple whores
            to conserve their mass comfort and status quo
so they can sell Resurrection to few?
Or did You save us all,
            even those that willed the nails,
                        spears, and thorns?
Would those that claim You, accept You,
if You are not white,
            but of color,
                        not in a suit but in squalor?

Do you bless the exclusivity of bullies
            that wag insults between fake smiles
and praise the Lord upon the pain of others?
Would You be hailed if You returned
            and asked from the mount of sermons
for peace and good will for all? 
            Preached again to love our neighbor
and do unto others as we would want done onto us,
            or is Heaven a personal paradise?

On this Your Easter,
            I feel stones cry.

by Marta Weeks
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