You Cannot Love an Icon

You Cannot Love an Icon

(“The earth is filled with your love, Lord; teach me your decrees.” Psalm 119:64)

You cannot love an icon,
a mask you’ve fashioned to hide the
goodness in your opponent’s face.

You have severed the connective tissue that
binds you, love to love.

Get an education,
come out from the shadows,
join the celebration
that heals your icy biases.

Beware when people call evil, good; and good, evil.
Beware when love is meant for only a chosen few.
Beware when war is called peaceful; peace, uncivil.
Beware when outrage is mistaken for the truth.

The world is flooded, an unending stream,
a placid lake of uncaged love,
a river that causes deserts to bloom.
(Don’t unearth the outcasts too soon.)

Get a renovation,
step down from your tower,
take a long vacation
from all your fiery minuses.

The world is brimming, earth saturated
like a lava cake with chocolate,
a comfort that causes the hearts to thaw.
(Erase the conclusions you’ve drawn.)

Cross the street, cross the divide,
get over your unbridled myopia.
The sacrifice of love is a stronger law than
the weaklings of hate. Look love in the face,
undefine the abominations you think have
sealed their fate,

And dig in the mud, take off the makeup,
remove the icons from your venerated shelves,
and learn, oh learn,
the love that loves
better than ourselves.