feel the weight of glory and how light like ink upon my skin
once seared with small spears piercing my flesh
now it’s settled like peaceful surrender all smooth, soft, and tender.
“All we like sheep…” have spent all our pay on statues of silver and gold
building temples to this god or that god…we were going for baroque.
I have knelt at all the adorned altars, making peace, making war, making love,
making the bride of Christ an adulterer…and all of this for a quest, a search,
I spent and bought space in a barren Baptist basement, as cold as a tomb that church:
Seeking solace in a palace and absolution; using holy tap water for my ablutions.
as I back away from the window into the room the shadows swallow me whole;
the light in me grows brighter, as the blackness blends with soul
walk on hot coals set with so much fire
that it bends and blisters bitter skin
brown and black comes back to a withered sole…
for all I’ve been burned, and for all I’ve learned
not one penny…not one bit of penitence have I earned.
I want to be free and gay like a baby; I want to play with daylight like a toy
Wadding it up and throwing it away, as if he was a jaded girl or a bitter boy.
God has made time for us, and as cool as water from a deep well
For us He made time itself. No one can even tell
How cursed we were, now how blessed.
But the sweetest dreams are sometimes the easiest to forget…
I wipe sweat from my eyes and struggle to rise…
I do not know what is worse the dry heat or the humidity
Clouds of faded gray seethe in the lee of a Serengeti tsunami
Not really raining but bleeding being hurt so much by the hellish heat.
The whole world is a wilted flower, leaning lilting to one side
a sweating sweltering delta, witnessed by a blind Creole.
Even with shadows and a light breeze, it is nothing short of Sheol.
Can you tell me how to get to a place called freedom?
Or at least can you tell me where I’ve come from?
But all I hear is from Jimi Hendrix or a hymn of David’s magic:
“Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and you be destroyed in your way,
for his wrath can flare up in a moment. Blessed are all who take refuge in him.”
All the while, angels argue with demons clamoring for my attention:
A cacophony of calamity and killing conversation claws
At my ears whispers at my eyes shouts at my mind
At every crossroad I find spiritual surround sound…
Let me go down, let me go down, let me go downtown;
Don’t let me go on. Interrupt my flow…don’t let me go;
Hold me…I just might tell you things you need to know;
The bruises are not enough to make us stop or even slow…
We’ve got to bleed to show the stuff of which we are made.
The blade.
What others call the truth. Some say it may set you free.
But not me.
I need proof…I need to see.
Your truth may be shiny like the solid gold dancers, but
Your faces are pallid, you are old and weak and have no answers.
I will be free.
Let the cold dead lies of decaying religions eat you like cancer…
I will sail on through blue skies. Looking for truth in different eyes.
Looking for second-hand salvation with second sight.
But Heaven will have Her Way
Her Way is wise and kind.
And when I leave this world on wings on whispers may I find
The gate that stands on clouds of pearl and white.
2006
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