this side of the ocean

sometimes i get bored in social justice class. i did today, at least. and right before i wrote this, i was in history class learning about the 1920s, particularly the its social aspect. in the 1920s, the urban areas grew more advanced and secular, and ten

"on this side of my ocean,
we citizens have rights.
look at me! don't i seem happy?
and i'm educated, can't you tell?
can you hear it in the way i speak?
you'd love my city, it's one big wonder.
the films in our picture shows,
the nights with the streets aglow,
the way our society flows,
the things that our peoples know,
i'll tell you boy, you'll only find them here,"
she explained as she stroked her hair,
and smoothed her blouse,
and pursed her lips,
and shuffled her feet,
and hoped that she wouldn't go wrong.
he half-smiled, confused,
and thought a little cynically,
and wondered if her city had any Jesus.

on his end by the ocean,
by the shore and by the harbor,
were the glittered gifts that had been left by Jesus.
in the warmth of the yellow light he felt dear Jesus,
in the choir's rich praises he heard his dear Jesus,
and in the trees and the breeze and the sands by the seas,
he met his dear Jesus,
and knew his dear Jesus.through his obsolete ways, he knew his dear Jesus.
but in this girl, he didn't see any Jesus,
for all he saw was greed, and pride, and pure sin.
"my Jesus," he muttered, "why, do you know Jesus?"
"well," she spoke,"...of course i know Jesus...."
"no. i can tell that there isn't no Jesus.
i don't see dear Jesus.
not in your fancy sinful clothes,
or the pretentious way you spoke,
and certainly not in your falsefied beauty,
or your synthetic stature."

and he walked over her ocean,
and back by his ocean.
to escape her city's cruel fate,
and return to dear Jesus.