You flowers of El
who live in this ancient passageway,
in a wilderness through which every man has passed,
spreading like a plague across the face of a naive earth,
forging new religions and theocracies;
chains to restrain
what otherwise blossoms free.
Navigation is by night skies here,
both on land and sea,
and you willingly share of the stars,
but not the dirt shaken from your feet.
The land of Christ is not yours.
Moses parted seas and nations to come here,
leading his tribe into the promised land;
promised by G-d
to His chosen ones . . . to the exclusion of all others?
The promised land is yours, only to share.
Formed from the same star dust,
believers in the same imaginary friend,
how can dust rule dust I cry!
But when my tears fall,
they fall on lives that are hate-baked,
forming religions from otherwise seamless lives.
You too must share.
This is a land that can be possessed, only
as a night sky can widen your mind, only
as an idea can show you the way, only
as love can illuminate and guide us through.
In this land
we can only have rights of passage.
©Copyright Niall OConnor 2012