Sunday, March 29, 2015

God's Son Lay Down by Michael Adams

God’s Son Lay Down

God’s son walked down the street, His son
walked down East Colfax Ave. on a Jan. morning,
1AM, in the snow, torn sneakers and an alto sax and nowhere
to rest his head, nowhere except
in the lap of an old junkie whore,
and God’s son lay down his dark head there,
Lay down his head on the altar of flesh
weary of preaching love,
offering his music of love.
But no one hears –
that we are all each other,
and all one, and each
of us is holy
and the earth is holy,
this old battered boot-worn holy earth.
But no one hears and so God’s son
lay down his head again to die
and be reborn with the new day, reborn to preach
his only commandment,
To love that old bum, that old drunk vet,
that old woman smelling of vomit
and despair who once was
someone’s daughter,
and someone’s daughter on the street now –
15 years old and run-away, pregnant punching bag
with needle nightmares,
His son lay down his head because no one
wanted to hear about love, only
about vengeance and sin,
And God’s son lay down his weary head
with it’s undying burden of sorrow,
which is no more or less than joy offered
and not taken, lay down
his weary head in a back alley in the snow
in the lap of an old whore
and blew softly, softly
to his Father, the prayer
of his music.
Michael Adams copyright © 2011

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