Conversion

Conversion

A Poem by Rebecca

A conversion you don’t see

Religion’s uses be come sinful propelled by greed and self-resurrections that leave one breathless constructed not around divine law but instead self interest that does not see the soup kitchen line winding into trash filled alleys but instead stands before the bingo line with hands held forward eyes panned down in mock piety

 

A Christian ideal preventing spiritual life

Becomes a wall imagining a white god leaving no room for variations used to subjugate and excuse ignorance hatred constructed on the idea of the alien the other that will usurp the unnatural law of things easing the majority into the last 500 years the savage a refugee incapable of salvation

 

A soul violates the construction, being unaffected

Misunderstanding labeled as godless placing a judgment against personal will and leaving the intellect unused and disposable excepting to support atrocities the hate the very thing that creates the dilatants who refuse to hold their eyes and faces rapt to the hollow ranting of detached ministers who cling to the altered podium in an effort at power

 

The most accurate depiction, a catechism. The model slave internalized, if you believe in Jesus.

Told the right answers to the wrong questions presented with a picture of eternal life acceptance riding on a desire to please dressed in white dresses veils perched precariously crowning downy heads mouths cocked open to the body of Christ tongues tingling from blood not recognizing the distinctions of humane character from human character that could reshape the brown cloaked sandaled monk into hypocrisy too late the awareness of difference becomes fairly harsh

 

If restrained a self-reliance doubts purification, the old image implying black to white, quieted.

Held up by imagined deities constructed not from a desire to heal but to persecute to separate to leave the masses divided against one another clinging to the material while pledging allegiance to the spiritual evangelists reach into back pockets section by section of contradictions declaring each obsolete and knocking down the door censoring the censored presenting a contract sealing against the pull of nature continuing the lines becoming blurred around the edges the distinctions become opaque and fade to silence.

© 2008 Rebecca


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Added on April 21, 2008

Author

Rebecca
Rebecca

Lebanon, PA



About
There's very little to tell about myself - primarily, poetry is what I write for myself though I do occassionally write rants (essays) and short stories. I have a great love of metaphors and layering.. more..

Writing