PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … March 28th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3625)

Can We Talk

I don’t want to die on a cross

Who would?

Are you crazy?

Wanting to die is insane

Giving up is anti-human

And I am human

Do you know that?

I am the Son of Man

Just like you

Do you want to die?

Even if it provided solution?

Ridiculous

Why would you believe in a God,

Who fostered human sacrifice?

Isn’t that sick?

Don’t the prophets tell you

That God hated all sacrifice

Even animals?

Why would He suddenly choose His Son’s blood?

A human being?

Preposterous

I love life

It is so unpredictable

So gloriously tenuous

I love people, if they will permit

I don’t want to leave

So much beauty

So much growth

Sinners becoming winners

The messed, blessed

Sad made glad

And the dead–born again

Leave me alone

If you don’t believe just ignore me

Keep your nails to yourself

Keep your whip off my back

I have things I want to do

I came to show the Father

Do you want to kill Him also?

Does everything have to end in bloodiness?

I asked my Father to give me a break

But…

He is honoring your free will

You want me dead

So…

I will die

I will bleed like no one has ever bled before

If you want my blood

I will pour it all out on the ground

But be careful

It came from me

I am a healer

My blood just might save you

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … April 12th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3275)

A Goddam Hill

I’ll bring the nails

You get the wood

The plan never fails

Who thinks it should?

He plays the hurt one

Toying with fire

Claimed he was God’s son

What a fuckin’ liar

I’ll find the place

You smack his face

Plenty of blood to drink

Never the time to think

Man lives by bread alone

We are merely flesh and bone

Shut the hell up about your heaven

First there’s four, five, six and seven

Give me that spear

I’ll stab the queer

Your putrid love

Is cursed by fear

Die today

For all the sin

Then on Sunday

Pronounce your win

Bring the whip

I’ll do the beating

Losing my grip

Passion is fleeting

Why won’t he leave me

In my misery?

Die, you feckless teacher

Alone, sucking for air

Be silent, ragged preacher

The world does not care

We are filth, a moral flirt

Squeezed together from the dirt

We are nothing but skin and trash

Shut your mouth, take the lash

We just won’t, can’t you see?

We just can’t, leave us be

Yet the stranger of Galilee

Continues to smile at me

Though wracked with pain

He will never refrain

So we murdered a King

On a goddam hill

Let his praises ring

For he trusts us still.

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G-41: Pulseless… September 12, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2350)

Dead … as a doornail.

Please, no mention of nails.

Ironic: a carpenter terrified by nails. Leave it to the Romans to murder a tree and use it to kill me.

Dead … that last frantic, frightened gasp for air as the brain dims away like a flickering flame.

Extinguished.

Then … yes, then a victim of cruel-cified. Very cruel.

Waiting to see if suffocation, heart attack from extreme pain or bleeding to death occur first.

• Constantly cramping
• Constantly thirsty.
• Constantly bleeding.
• Constantly … trapped.

Some watched. Some mocked. Some busied themselves earning their daily shekel.

A few mourners.

I prayed for Mission A and ended up with Plan B–a sacrifice to stupidity to end stupidity once and for all.

For here is the reasoning:

To gain resurrection, something must die. To die, someone must risk, by faith, that there is more. To believe in more requires a zest for life that despises death.

Yes, John, pull me down.

Mother, take the thorns from my head.

Joseph, carry me to your tomb.

I shan’t stay long.

Set the alarm for 6:00 A. M. Sunday.

I will wake up.

The good news is …

So will you.

 

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