Sowing a Seed To Make Me Bleed
If they had tied forsaken Jesus to a fig tree in India to play with his flute
The Buddha might have turned out a crucifix charmer licking the sweet core
History propels an ocean with cascades drift wood and signposts to implore
Rewriting a legend may seem bloody on branches but is no trivial pursuit
But a philosophical mind game with seeds of doubt on an innermost shore
Seekers of truth would still turn tables for four noble truths or resurrection
Darwin could still remove the loin cloth in nude heretic secular anticipation
Of wars and crusades a blind sighted mutation folding the cross for protection
Pigs continued to fly cows remained holy and prophets were doomed in starvation
While vultures replaced peace doves mess on marble statues in final selection
I bleed dear Saviour for mere existence misses the target of raw cross-pollination
Theme Sowing a seed to make me bleed
27th January 2020
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