A Poem for my Christian Friends

Here is a poem for my Christian friends I wrote several years ago.

I am tired of the fretful steps of little men,
Tired of the hamstrung, treadless fear
Of unnoticed eunuchs
Striving to be unseen.
Tired of nervous dartings and faithless praise.
Of empty men.
And whispered feints.
Tired of the impotent labor of chasing Things.

I am weary of the spiritual desolation
Of this City of Men
Men who pause and quaver
And couch to hedge
An answer. Men neither slaves to service, nor are free.
Who are these men?
Buying and selling. And coming to naught?
Gathering coins and gazing in the mirror?
Full of conceit yet rub their knees and wistful’ murmur
Of safety?
Who sneak in subterfuge
To be so nice?

I will not stand on the wall of this City anymore.
I will not fight in the gate to keep the enemy out.
I want the vice-like grip of Veritas
On my throat,
The flaying conquering lash
Of stark cutting moral fact
To slice like barbs upon my back,
To rip my flesh until bleeding bends
Me Helpless down before Truth, in assent.

Let the Conquering Prince
Reclaim this place,
Come with iron shackles of fearless faith
To crush my throat until I gasp and yield
To His victorious hand in abject defeat.
Gouge out the eyes of pride that I may see.
Free me from freedom.
Liberate me in Truth’s captivity!

Carry me bound to your City on a Hill
As trophy of triumph over conquered pagan will.