Pyres and Crosses...

They nailed him up...
one of many

many millions
young men

crucified
purges

There were millions.

Thousands in a day
crucified, beheaded
Burnings

Would he stand on the hill of the killing field of Infidels
With their observations, books, thoughts,
Sight

Would he look upon their bodies and smile?

For some strange reason, madness perhaps,
I think to myself he would weep.

He never was about guilt
Never wanted that for you
would grieve to see you grovelling
confessing Sin

Before the Axe you bow and cry

Tell Him about your Sorrow
He cares not for simple guilts
and Fear

Is it not Life
That you would hear Him speak about

I do not know,
I cannot say

Think of this Being at the center
Speaking
Surrounded by His acolytes
Wanderers

A message of

Acceptance
Peace
Strength
Love
Community

Blown apart we are divided
The Break

We are broken Apart
Become Wanderers again...

He does not want your Suffering
for Guilt, Shame and Fear

The cross on which he hung is NOT his friend
No Ally was he nailed to

Electroshocked minds of happiness
it's so much better now
We have so much to do...
We dance naked in tiny boxes of white
Almost afraid of the fields flocks once roamed
Terrified of dirt,
and the smell of grass

Worshiping the guillotine on which our rebels and heroes have departed...
Screaming
"Truth...
and freedom!"

I will not bow before this Axe
It killed my friend

His Life is the True Story
Not the fairy tales of his Father

Jesus did not point to the sky
He pointed to his centre, and that of the others there
"This is what we seek
Together..."

Not the noose and its tying...
The bullet in its flying
The machete and the pistol
And the Pyre.


C. Taylor