Lent Poetry 19

The Second Coming

If I reach out
my hands are slapped aside--
They shout that I'm not right,
I am an abomination.
Others will say
that I don't care enough
shouting that I am wrong
because I do not see the world
in the eyes of American
ideological supremacy

I can't reach them
to explain
that we have been lied to--
my message distorted
by blind fury
and propaganda.
They don't want compassion,
it’s too hard.
Placing blame is so much easier
than seeing yourself
in another person’s eyes.

They get lost in the minutiae
of details
correct language
correct words
correct bodies
instead of realizing
we are already dead.

But maybe,
in the death of a nation,
we will find
that we are our own
resurrection.