I thought that it that it's been very dark time for so many people. I thought, perhaps, in my way, I'll share a poem that keeps telling me that it wants to be shared. Oh, and a Jewish song that I enjoy listening to repeatedly. And a Ukrainian Folk song that I can't stop listening to.
And in my own way, light my own menorah.
Yourself?
Robbed.
Blind.
And you didn’t know.
Who took it from you?
Which way did they go?
All your love. All your light.
They stole it from you in broad daylight.
Who was the thief that robbed the train? Who took away the engine and stole your heart, and rewired your brain?
Who was the one who rewrote your will? Who took away your inheritance, and your freewill?
Who was the one who signed the paper, that took from you your own grace, your savior?
Who stole your sight? And made you blind, to the truth surrounding you all the time?
Who was the culprit that made you chase, after other Gods, with a different face?
Who moved into your house, and stole your land? Who pillaged your temple, and robbed you, again and again?
Who stole your name, and made you bow down, who forced you to wear an iron crown?
Who was the one who made you forget, who you were, your place, where you and your beloved met?
Who took your voice, and all your power, who stole your one true lover?
Who took from you your light? Who made you wander the earth, from dawn, till night?
Who made you look for the love that you are, who made you forget, that you are the beloved, the fixed, shining star?
What kind of lie did you ingest?
That turned you into your own uninvited guest?
Who was the one who made you drink the poison, who took from you, your one enjoyment?
Who was the one who stole your youth, that took from you the wisdom you could have taken with you, your truth?
Who will confess at the Passover feast, who was the Judas, who wanted the silver, who was the double-minded thief?
Who was it that nailed love to the cross?
Who was it that turned on life itself?
Who was it that didn’t believe that God could raise himself?
Who was it who wasn’t his brother's keeper?
Who was it who told the lie, that blamed another?
Who was it who saw and watched it all?
Who was it?
And why don’t we see?
That who we are looking for, and the person we blame, is our head and our heart playing a strange sort of game.
We split ourselves in a thousand pieces, and toss away the bliss, the prince—of all the pieces.
And the person we blame, is one of the twelve, a double minded soul, that hangs himself.
And so all our silver we spend on a potter's field, on our own grave.
Lost ourselves, because we think it’s only our bodies we save.
Sold our treasure.
For pottage. And we bought a lie.
When will we stop? When will we wonder why?
When will we see his kingdom come?
When will the moon be turned to blood? When will the sun stop giving its love?
When will the stars fall from the sky?
When will the earth give up her dead?
When will we ever see the end?
When will we heal, when will we mend?
When will we gather the whole, and love all the missing parts?
When will love be the one we crown?
When will truth be told, and when will it abound?
When will the captives be set free?
When will then lost tribes finally see?
When will we gather all the pieces of real gold?
When will we toss out the lies, and live the higher law from above?
When will we rise from our own dark tombs?
When will we shake off the pain, the gloom?
When will the stone be rolled away?
Who will be standing there, what angels will light the way?
What second coming would we recognize, a raised Christ we walked with in disguise?
What sort of coming, in glory, and splendor, would bring an end to the war, and the hunger?
When will love stand supreme? Truth light, love, spirit, unified, a glorified being.
When will we be one with life?
When will we stop chasing silver instead, of the light?
When will we free the one who loves us best? When will we put love where it belongs? When will we raise up, the hallelujah, and fan the palms?
When will we crown the rightful king?
When will we let him ride through our streets?
When will he be an invited guest?
When will we let love, be the one we love best?
When will we stop washing our hands, looking the other way, and giving in to other people's demands?
When we stop accusing love?
When will we stop nailing it up?
When will we bring his kingdom down, to a place in yourself, to your own hallowed ground?
When will you let it crack the law? When will you let Christ tip over your tables, where you tally, and claw?
Who is the one who holds the whip? Who strikes love, who makes it slip?
Who is the one who barters for love's clothes?
Who stands guard to watch its dead bones?
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