A child confused,
a man taught of love
and wandered
in conviction
and fed the crowds
in miracles and brotherhood,
that was his mission.
Crucified on a cross
thorns as a halo
the wood of his trade
a burden to bear.
His bride at his side
was an apostle in hiding...
that was his cross road
to... there.
A horrible day as a child,
an enlightening day as adult.
The myth is the story
the message is stale
of a failed decision
to exclude the women
who cared in their veil.
The patriarchal classes
have had their agnus dei,
the lamb was slaughtered
in the usual way.
The daughters of Mary
have had quite enough
of the pomp and circumstance
of this religious rebuff.
No son of a mother
should ever so perish
as a sacrificed lamb
for the lies of the garish
in any homeland.
There is nothing righteous
about a reviling murder
to keep people afraid
of their own perilous slumber.
Wake in resurrection
as an insurrection
to know you are god
the light of the source
of whose Love
there are no words
so of course, live humbly.
Your wonderful souls are meek.
Those who perpetrate lies
against the those who live and seek?
Their days are... well numbered.
A secret vow that I can't keep.
