I see you, eyes cast down in pocked and weathered faces,

cheeks sunken from polishing what could never shine.

Your overseers, harsh and bloated with their assumed fame

cast a sneering glance, a gaping maw of greed,

lusting for lust’s sake, all in the name of (g)od.

I sat at your tables, supping with your sons, your daughters.

I touched your withered, your lonely and broken castaways.

I drank of wine, once pulled from a well, but

unsatisfying for those who just wanted

to celebrate a little longer.

Yesterday, the smallest steed walked on branches and twigs

heedless of the hypocrisy, of misunderstanding, of misapprehension.

Those same roadway gifts will soon be yanked away

in favor of heavier trees and a few nails.

Oh, how you would have been better to keep your coats,

to water your palms, to soak your dirt-worn feet

than to waste such extravagance on a lie.

Now, I look out over the dim Jerusalem skyline,

so large of breast but small of heart –

and weep.

 

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