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Poem

Was it only for this
You endure trash and flies
Magi's bow and kiss
And parents laden arms
With dazzling gifts
In sparkling paper wraps
Hustling in the bustling
Drip and drizzle
O a season's festivities?


Was only for this
The African bowed
With his heavy charity of wood
He could not even own,
Being marginalized and propertyless
Property of your love
And I pulpit story
Again and again
Of redemption 
In a manger sleeping?

From the scraps of economy
In the blistered wonder land
The tax and strain
Of tradition's requirement
Deepens the pain
Foreign to repentance here
Ignorant to the cosmic despair
The soul brinks on precipice
Of the unaware
Manger and cross
Are just another commodity
In the archeology of disbelief.

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