Shortcut

Shortcut

(“Therefore, when Jesus perceived that they would come and take Him to make him a king, He departed again into a mountain by Himself.” John 6:15)

How well have your shortcuts worked
to bring the king down from the mountain to
slay the mongrels that have slobbered all over your
beloved memories, the golden age, the gilded cage
where you hid pretending that you held the key to
bring back the foursquare families only baby

Boomers

Remember.

Your cage is jaded, the statues you’ve erected to
cannons, generals and frightful confederates
stand next to your churches waving the flag
as if god wanted you to sing (OF thee i SING),
off the stinging sun blocked by the stars and stripe forever.

You’ve got to take the long way round,
ride a donkey, ride an ass,
smell the crowd, the peasant class,
watch the sandals worn through the desert’s dust
and the sun bake the faces of those you
thought you could outrun in your glittering limousines.

Who do you want him to overthrow?
What do you want him to enforce?
Your plans? Your course of events?
Did you plan to be left behind?
Did you take the scepter and declare, in the name of

God and

Country

The king was surely on your side?

You want a ruler to enforce your borders while

Christ weeps over the masonry hearts
beautifully mortared just inches outside his hearing.