Keystone

A Poem about Jesus on Earth Day

To be free

from the darker arts,

the contriving of forms reversely onto the

foreground of natural history.

Soothsayers gazing backwards,

trading the naked now for

trinkets of lore and laud,

we trouble ourselves with tradition,

we glory in our conquests

of the lesser then.

If Jesus was anything

more than a man, he was a wolf.

Seething into our herd of ailments,

his iridescent eyes grew fixed

in a chilling stare at the

ensuing death

of the first great human distortion:

dominionism.

No wonder we killed him as we

kill him today. We dress him in purple

and crown him with

jagged misattributions. He was

predator come to thin the

ranks of our diseased confidences,

to strengthen our substance

within a remnant.

As with any whose truth

is too real to destroy,

he haunts our dreams

and howls to the moons of our

deepest instincts.

He has done his bloody work

and left

those of us still standing

to walk

each trail of faith that leads

to the new Earth.

Let us see

creation as it is.