Poem
No Longer (Mining Fools Gold With The Others)
I no longer sneer at the idea of Judas Iscariot.
I no longer revere his kiss as betrayal.
I would hug the cross, if it were to be placed so high and wide,
that my arms would be too short to extend from west to east
I no longer ponder upon the idol that many worship.
I know fools gold when I see it.
It may sparkle like a thousand night-time skies,
but at dawn, all the sparkle fades in a vanilla whitewash.
I had never given much credence to the son of god.
I had decided instead to believe in easter bunnies and santa claus.
“What ever gets you through the night,” spake John. I guess I’d just add my nod.
Because faith is a matterless substance, and I can only deal with the tangible.
What if Jesus never climbed up on his cross?
What if he watched from a niche, as a surrogate took his punishment?
What of Simon of Cyrene? Was he messiah for a day?
Perhaps it is wrong to question faith, but is it also wrong to question false faith?
I no longer sneer at the idea of Judas Iscariot, perhaps he did not betray.
I wonder if the cross was really a stage?
Was it merely the end of act II, a high drama to keep the audience attuned?
The audience is silent.
It looks on, hands raised, imaginations in bloom
An absolute of naiveté scenes,
As preachers preach the word, the one true word, of the one true god
A god who has never showed its face for proper worship;
But, rather one who wishes for blinded adoration.
Blind adoration should be reserved for god incarnate, the lover
For nothing beyond the realms of reality matter more than the acceptance of divine alter.
© Erik Lauritzen 2008
I no longer sneer at the idea of Judas Iscariot.
I no longer revere his kiss as betrayal.
I would hug the cross, if it were to be placed so high and wide,
that my arms would be too short to extend from west to east
I no longer ponder upon the idol that many worship.
I know fools gold when I see it.
It may sparkle like a thousand night-time skies,
but at dawn, all the sparkle fades in a vanilla whitewash.
I had never given much credence to the son of god.
I had decided instead to believe in easter bunnies and santa claus.
“What ever gets you through the night,” spake John. I guess I’d just add my nod.
Because faith is a matterless substance, and I can only deal with the tangible.
What if Jesus never climbed up on his cross?
What if he watched from a niche, as a surrogate took his punishment?
What of Simon of Cyrene? Was he messiah for a day?
Perhaps it is wrong to question faith, but is it also wrong to question false faith?
I no longer sneer at the idea of Judas Iscariot, perhaps he did not betray.
I wonder if the cross was really a stage?
Was it merely the end of act II, a high drama to keep the audience attuned?
The audience is silent.
It looks on, hands raised, imaginations in bloom
An absolute of naiveté scenes,
As preachers preach the word, the one true word, of the one true god
A god who has never showed its face for proper worship;
But, rather one who wishes for blinded adoration.
Blind adoration should be reserved for god incarnate, the lover
For nothing beyond the realms of reality matter more than the acceptance of divine alter.
© Erik Lauritzen 2008