It Has Been a Slow Death

 
It Has Been a Slow Death

(“…as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.” 2 Corinthians 6:10)

It has been a slow death I know,

From

Circles on a carpeted floor,
sharing cups of 7up and
crumbs of sourdough in makeshift
remembrance

To

The names I have heard you call
good men and women
who were once the all
you proclaimed to love.

And now I feel the death all around me,
the demons of power arcing above the towers
that once called us to joy (the soul’s sorrow,
the spirit’s release),
that once called us to mercy (the word’s story,
the gospel’s free speech),
that once called us to believe (the child’s trust,
the riches unleashed).

And now I see the black figures swinging swords
and aiming nooses, surrendering the peace for
a withered podium of power. And now I hear
the funeral song and I cannot endure

The divorce

Of the ancient faith from its ineffable source,
the crucified one, the suffering Son,
the one acquainted with grief.

I have died today as well
and do not know which world to enter.
The worst abuse, like stripes on a weary body and mind
has found its endgame in the final clod of dirt
tossed upon the casket of my once
vibrant faith.

From the ground up, from deep within the earth,
poor again, having nothing but the me, the seed,
the pleading for life beneath it all,
something still breathes that was smothered.
Something still reaches that was buried.
Something still sees that was blinded
by the shuttered standstill of sight trained
in only one direction.

Something breathes…

But today is one gasp away from
diving beneath the mud and blankets
and never venturing out again.