Friday, January 28, 2011

Through a Glass Starkly

Lay you stone upon stone
 Set your idol erect;
Upon gold-crusted throne,
let his image reflect
a god custom-tailored for you.

Of skin tone like your own,
lest the neighbors object;
Make your Maker a clone
that will earn their respect,
with no controversial views.

Drink his wine as a sign,
and partake of his bread;
pluck you grapes from his vine
and the thorns from his head;
Forget that you crucified him.

His decline was designed
to bring life to the dead;
Was his gift thus confined
to his 'chosen' instead,
by writ or by spurious whim?

Enter proud and unbowed
your celestial womb;
To be part of the crowd
and escape certain doom:
Just pay at the gate for your sins.

Now your shroud is a cloud,
and a mansion your tomb;
Sing "Hosanna!" aloud
to our father, by whom
life ends, and forever begins.

Was his grace so misplaced,
his salvation misspent;
Was his visage defaced
for a chosen percent,
who slam the gates tightly behind?

Is there space, and embrace,
if I choose to repent?
Would his mercy erase
fifty years of lament;
or has he yet made up his mind?

Were they wrong all along
about what he requires?
Were their voices so strong
as to quench my desires,
to draw near to him from afar?

There's a song that I long
to hear sung by a choir;
telling me I belong,
with no formal attire;
the dress code is 'come as you are'.
©2010 R.J. Gardner - All Rights Reserved

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