photo credit: lasse christensen via photopin cc

These are the thoughts expressed by my 20 year old self. I would probably write a few lines  differently today. The point of poetry is to capture the moment. It is fun to reflect on how your thoughts change or stay the same.


I. Man Questions God

My heart throbs as emotion courses
Through transparent veins – a consciousness
That envelops my eternal being.
The futility of life begnaws my heart,
As I question a merciful God
And Wince at inhuman horrors;
Helplessly, people of this world are
Enthralled by Thanatos’s bloody scyth;
A hellish hurricane that exhales
Them – Amorphous to the Stygian shores.

Questions that torture my brain,
The barbarity on this sad sphere:
Is reward of heaven imputed to
Men who lieve in boxes of board,
Or those of rock and steel?
Love and life for those who pray,
Or those who refuse to kneel?
Does faith and virtue count for ought,
Or only the ammount of money sought?

A virus invades mankind like a leach,
Making the crimson life fluid inert,
And laying waste the once dear – now hurt!
Miracle worker where is your power,
When heinous organisms hex us hopeless?
Imploding cell to rank, rotten tumor:
Time and again – Creation – itself destroys.

Divine Deliverer – why not relief?
Sometimes you seem so beyond belief.
Shepherd, your children – sighing.
A few themselves kill – tired of trying
Some adults grow up so very late,
Praying the price for a father’s rape.
The blue crematory flame – glows still
And fans the forgotten phantoms
Of six million lambs who cry – why?

Wandering wounded warriors
Whimpered half happy tirades
Past the sally port gates tonight.
They sought happiness – perhaps:
In the simmering, jaundiced, poison;
It is something new and complex.
An erotic, noisome, aura of malice
Casts its shadow upon modern man.

II. God’s Answer

Sent from heaven’s lofty heights
Dainty diamond studded rainbows
Dance across murky space to you
Unseen they minister to you.
And quiet, like the Eagle’s stealth,
I see those like you my child,
Seeking truth on the fields of Boaz.

Atoms – my breath the Earth – formed;
Adams – my holy begotten – scorned:
I weep for you old Jerusalem.
You think you are forgotten of me,
That there are no “tears in heaven,”
But no, never I say – forgotten
By my own sweet lambs – I Am.

My special people I still adore
When angry men attacked ashore
You triumphed on that Yom Kippur
Yet, pride of life rejects therefore
That nail scared hands with amore
Chose to stand with you to the fore
To take the stand once more.

Reduce yourself to Primordial Pool,
And plagiarize my great design.
Believe in those bumbling fools,
And accept yourself what seems benign.
But, heaven’s hearth will not warm;
Ostracized cold – the mind torn,
As indifference denies my Spirit.

On Sistine Ceiling of Michelangelo,
A gap between the fingertips – touch
I and man so close, but separate so
Your selfish impatience expands much
Yet, when you hope for Faith’s sake
A close position those hands take
And creation proves worth our hurt

Understanding I don’t expect of thee
As no terrestrial words can explain me.
But, justice unimagined will erase,
By faith in loves ideal embrace,
Your life of sin and shamed fears.
Forever in time my earthly reign to be
Forever my love, my love for thee!

(c) 1993 Jason Lamar
7 September 1993

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