Hard-Line Religion

Heavy stones are
each parable twisted
each imperative thrust’d
with hard hands.
Hands that are angry
Hands that stopped touching
Stopped healing
Stopped feeling
Stopped loving
Stopped embracing
Hands that need a healer
Hands that hurt
And hands that hurt others
And yes I flinch at those hands
I fear those hands
I hate those hands.
Are those the hands of justice?
The hands that exegete and apologete;
Who pronounce, who proclaim, the Truth, the Way, the Light?
Justice is cruel
Their words are cruel
They sever
They disconnect
They blunt
They barr
They shut out
They shout out
Hard words though directed at enemies not present, not me,
oh and evils unseen,
in the hearts and the minds of the hearers,
all four thousand eighty four of them,
still they crush me.
For with them I know that I could never entrust my heart,
my life, my love,
my confidence, my thoughts,
my struggles, my challenges and dilemmas,
my humanity, even my salvation,
Unless I wanted those heavy stones
to be cast at me
with those hard callous hands.

Copyright Cherie Teasdale 2009