FORERUNNERS
by MICHAEL JAMES
APRIL 2015
Lame, in April and Orion overhead,
We forerunners who were to make straight The Way,
aren’t doing the job; we’re not even finding
a river for the baptists.
Or if any of us do find one,
it’s polluted and catches fire at the burning descent.
And those who should be preparing the children,
(Having themselves not a clue),
being possessed only with the urgency of keeping up
with the latest screen fiddling,
(As if that were anything more than serving the machine),
make its fodder easier to digest.
That one baptist, John, did more than all of us can do together,
as did Pythagoras and the Gnostics burned at stake.
We’re not inspired, don’t breathe enough the holy fire,
can’t see Blake’s metaphors.
Our wills are dulled by comfort and doubt, comfort, and doubt
that comes from too much trepidation and self love to catch the nearest way.
Doubting, we immobilize ourselves...
Becoming the Sweeneys of the night,
we miss that final meeting in the fading light.
Doubting, we tell ourselves we don’t know enough,
as if knowledge alone could ever be sufficient
to spur a man to action.
It takes inspiration,
the breathing in of heavenly fire to melt the fat lodged in our veins,
to heat our blood so it flows in the right direction,
towards the heart, not round it,
and lets us move.
Why don’t we catch fire?
Why are we simply empty men
Who serve only in the ante-room of our times?
It’s due to doubt and comfort; and we won’t give up either.
They help us avoid choosing.
They rationalize away the existential moment
so we never see it coming.
We continue our insipid half-lives, stumbling along,
never approaching the altar for the final blessing,
the eucharist that is the be-all here.
In short we are afraid we’ll have to give up
the hard-earned identity we think of as
ourselves.
Of course we will, I want to shout!
That is what our life’s about!
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