I don’t normally do poetry but yesterday I awoke with some of this running around my head. Thanks to Monica for allowing me to cross-post this here.
Crosses
Cross yourself and speak unto Jesus
And hope for the species that the people deceased
Are released from the pain and the suffering
Your faith is decreasing, the pages are creasing
In the only book you’ve been reading.
The idea is appealing, but somehow revealing
Of the fear that you’re breeding.
And you’re left needing…
You’re only human.
A part of this species that does as it pleases.
If you do what they tell you then you will be free,
Dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s,
Putting crosses in boxes like a job application
Delivered not into temptation but redemption
And carry the cross on your chest like disease
The people beneath us will be recieved above,
And you will be there to receive all the love.
Still you cross your chest as you cross your fingers,
And cross your legs too for there’s evil down there,
And preach the love as the hatred increases,
The cross on your chest, double-crossing the rest,
Treating others like feces.
As the crosses increase for the people beneath us
Crossing your chest as you cross your fingers
The hope that you’ll be received
And haven’t been deceived,
That the Jesus you speak of
Is real and forgiving.
You give up on living, your life is in pieces
Dashed against rocks, or stoned for your failings.
The bible tells you you’ll go to heaven,
You’ve been told this since before you were seven,
But even now you have doubts,
The cross is a crutch to reassure you.
Crossing your fingers and crossing your chest, if you’re good, and love Jesus, you’ll see heaven with the rest.
See, he died for you
And when you leave the species you’ll be with him too…
Cross your fingers…
Originally posted at Martin S Pribble.
