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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
Slamming
So this poem got me more cred than the previous one at a poetry slam I just went to, but people still didn't really like my performance; I need to memorize it before I try again, and then slow down a little. Here it is, though; it's an expansion of "Creche."


John said, “Christ, you’re the Son of Man, the son proclaimed, you’re the God-head”
But He said, “Get your head of the clouds; come on back down, you locust-eating hippie.
You should know, I’m just your cousin, another dime-a-dozen. I mean, maybe I’ve been preachin’ since I was twelve but that’s no reason for you to be raising hell. I guess sometimes I question the lessons I keep tellin’ the rabbis, ‘cause it’s strange how I knew that I was prophesied; it’s strange that I know more than our rabboni.
I think it’s crazy, and everything’s hazy- John, my mind is a maze and I’ve started asking questions like, ‘Am I some kind of deception?’ and wondered about God and I’ve gotta confess: I’ve wondered more than once, ‘Why me?’ for all the Word I’ve witnessed.”
And John said again, “You’re the Son of Man!” And then eighteen years later, he finally baptized Him.
But what He didn’t count on, what he didn’t realize eighteen years before the dove materialized was that he was about to be serialized and be
Blind-sided by the Light.
After twelve long years, God so benign decides to enlighten this kid to his plight
And now Jesus finds he’s not just another man; he’s part of a plan
And he can’t stand the truth because for you and me puberty’s enough to confuse us
But no, he finds out he’s part of eternity or a son or a father or a deity who got
Spit down to land like some sort of roast lamb by God in an adolescent girl.
Now we sit and spit- I think he hurled, not knowing who he was, ‘cuz for eighteen years, he didn’t know what he was; from twelve to thirty he’s learning his cause
And he says, “Before Abraham, I AM,” just to defy ‘em ‘cuz he didn’t know the “Why AM I?” for eighteen years why he was the one who encountered the dove.
In Gethsemane, they say he fell to his knees; I say he tripped over the Word.
“This is absurd!” he said, “Take this cup from my head!”
And I think they reversed it when they were writing the verses,
I think “Be it in your will” was an obligatory suffix.
Did he learn he would die on the cross, or did he know? When they were casting lots, did he still want clothes? Then on hour number nine, why would he cry, “Eloi, eloi, lama sabacthani?” if he was so sure that he wanted to die? Does he decry our piety now, the way we chisel a crucifix on tombstone bricks? I’d think it was sick, to toss about the way I kicked it like some kinda ticket past the grave. And can he stand what brand of people he saved? On an objective basis, was it worth it?
He came to grip like a fish comes to grip with the hook
Before he feeds the five thousand except there’s no limit; it’s endless
God needs a plow-horse on Earth and Christ- you’re the man;
Hey, God’s sacrificial Lamb, was this part of your plan?





 
 
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