Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The Parlor

12 October 2005

I beg your pardon

I’ve never
Worked so hard to live
Hurt so much to heal
Railed so defiantly against the Machine to find
Something better
Something greater
Something bigger than the daily
Hack and
Grinding of my axe against

The fantasies I had allowed to overtake me

All the things I once held true
In the midst of white-washed
Walls bearing crosses
Baptisteries intended to save
My soul from the devil if
I only stepped in and got wet

The god you rage against
I disbelieve as passionately as
Maybe more so
Than you

He is not the crucified God I now know
To be True


The only Reality
In the midst of white-washed
Self-made something-less-than-persons
Bearing crosses around our necks


For we could be condemned by our
Actions speaking louder than the
Resin hanging from chains which only
Bind our hearts in darkness

If the only cross we bear
Is a coordinating accessory
Dangling light and free upon the chest
Behind a very fashionable shirt
Sitting obediently in the pew
For Sunday morning’s massage

He is waiting outside
Do not seek Him in the Parlor

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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