"Dramatis Ars Poetica"(Dramatic Poetry): "Justification . . .?"

This is the Third in my Dramatic Poetry Series.  This one deals with how religion and hypocrisy have gone hand in hand with some of the most vicious crimes we've committed against each other.  This one deals with how that dynamic produced pure hate . . . and still doing it today.  So I hope you'll enjoy . . .

Justification . . .?

(“In the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit”)

As the scene opens, and the lights come up we see a church . . . but no ordinary church; It is a church filled with Christian Relics from different time periods . . . from different sects of Christianity.  Along the back and sides of the stage we see Egyptian Hieroglyphs that look aged and chiseled into the apparent Stone at some places . . . but interspersed in a haphazard fashion is are what seems to be modern construction – Sheetrock, Block and Brick.  These areas are plastered with tattered and new posters of mega-church flyers, and other revival events . . .

A crazed yell of ‘Halleluiah!!’ suddenly jars the silence . . . then a cacophony of hymns, prayers  and gospel songs, of different tempos and key signatures starts to rise in volume and crescendo. 

During the music a man appears from Upstage Left . . . he dons a pair of broken, cracked lens glasses that are bright red.  His ‘suit’ is a mismatch, rag-tag patchwork of monk’s garb, priest’s robes and he sports are silvery, two-color baggy slacks of the type that a ‘Creflo Dollar’ or Steve Harvey would wear, with matching mismatched shoes – One White with Black Highlights, the other an extremely shiny Black shoe.  The entire outfit appears to be ripped and perforated, stained with brown and red stains, in various stages of drying . . .

He appears to be enjoying the ‘noise’ with the reverence of the devout in the throes of prayer . . . but under the surface there appears to be a sort of sexual arousal amiss, at war within the figure . . .

He again bawls out ‘Halleluiah!!’ and shivers . . . shaking his entire body like a wet dog . . .

He starts to speak as if thoroughly happy but at the same time his insanity is so apparent it’s unnerving.  He flips back and forth between lucidity with depression and anger in tow . . . and then back to an unhinged quality dripping with sarcasm and irony . . . all throughout the following verses . . .

In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .

In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .

In the Name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .

I witness your baptism . . .

I watch as you  repeatedly submerge yourself

In that Sacred River . . .

In that Sacred River . . . of my Blood.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit . . .

You smear it all over your face and clothes

It clots in your hair,

Overtaken by an unearthly thirst you drink it in

Shivering, basking in its rejuvenating warmth

As it reluctantly drivels down your gullet,

Where upon mixing with age-old bile

You belch an acrid wind

That exhibits its own ravenous tendencies:

The destruction of my Soul;

The clay vessel of this entity’s corruption

An inevitable casualty of this quest.

Every new sun, I watch you devour me

Again and again . . .

But like Proteus my liver rejuvenates itself

‘Tis not quite clear what agitates you so

For you instruct your eagles to shred me

With increased frequency and severity . . .

I gasp, gazing into soulless portals

That decorate your face . . . looking . . .

Looking for an answer . . .

The great birds inch closer

And proceed to rip my ear off . . .

You whisper into my now unadorned orifice . . .

"In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . ."

I witness your baptism . . .

I watch as you  repeatedly submerge yourself

In that Sacred River . . .

In that Sacred River . . . of my Blood.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit . . .

Vampiric is your thirst for more blood . . . gore

Daily hunts on misting spring nights bring buckets more

Cascading on down to the floor

From the centrally pierced pelt that wore a monks hood that day

Sopped up by that ‘suspicious cloak’ . . .

That you’ve long been taught

Only acceptable, dispensable Game wear for the Righteous Slay . . .

My how well we drink these days . . .!

You sip it from goblets

Fashioned from the golden metal of captive souls

You in this new age prefer your beverage . . . cold.

Floating amidst the scarlet medium

Are crystallized tears of countless Mothers

Who have lost the fruit of their loins

To all manner swarming vermin

And marauding, canine-donning beast.

Many a day they lie in the squalor of a sweat

That mocks the iridescence of a hibiscus,

As these insatiable hounds,

Work her over, like mounds of earth

Uprooting saplings and seeds from nurturing solitude;

Their spades and claws wrench and tear

Rich, righteous dignities asunder;

The pieces coast away on thermals of lust-filled breaths.

After They withdraw, Mothers raise their wilted souls

To see where the Hounds are bound, lest they return . . .

Only to see you welcome them home to your kennel.

And wrest the ‘crop’ from their maws,

Looking them over quizzically, scrupulously.
Then they are deposited into your mouth,

Into the Dark Abyss of your world

As a strange delight a l’escargot.

Bravely the Mothers drag themselves to your door, to your feet . . .

Their bloodied lips spill the question “Why . . .?”

Your reply: “ ‘Tis the Bread we break . . .

“As we take Communion . . .”

"In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . ."

I witness your baptism

I watch as you  repeatedly submerge yourself

In that Sacred River . . .

In that Sacred River . . . of my Blood.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit . . .

You now attempt Take Us Back to deeds of your past,

And you will stop at nothing,

You even entrust this grizzly task to those

Hollowed-out obedient ones . . .

So totally enthralled, hypnotized by your repackaged, Siren’s Wail

Long, rambling, nonsensical, paradoxical beatitudes trickle out of these Pets' lips,

While Simultaneous Self-flagellation occurs

Turning the skin of their souls into Bacon

That now simmers and shrivels, the obvious masochism the discarded Fat

The heat of their insanity has fused nerve endings to be dead to the pain

Of being consumed by themselves . . . and the fearful Others

Creating methamphetamine-induced, dazzling Constellations

For the unsophisticated to be entranced by when

Gazing into the Darkened Sky of their Present Sensibilities.

Yes they wear my mask but they are NOT me . . .

I’m not scarred in that way . . . look and see!

Those Pets are husks, long devoid of any divinity . . .

Dusky Immortals like me aren’t so easily fooled.

Long have I watched your primitive life-forms,

I’ve studied your behavior.

Evolution has passed you by . . .

Refusing to believe that there still exists,

Such a primordial, parasitic organism.

Darwin’s Lovechild cowers in an all-seeing limbo

Watching in horror, as you engulf all creation with arms of muck,

Which only serves to absorb the fluid of Life

From whatever happens to become

Ensnared in the sticky goo.

All that is left behind are charred shells of souls

That are infected and eaten from the inside out

By the Maggots of the flies that

Hover and Swim in their pungent smell.

I swat wildly to disperse the cloud.

A few fall.

On examination, I identify their species.

Their names are Ignorance and Rage.

I whip around, aghast at the totality of your craving . . . but not surprised . . .

Only to see you wipe your mouth hurriedly,

From something that glitters like roses.

In your hand that shivers feverishly,

You hold a bottle filled with . . . wine.

But the heat that assails me scalds!

The container with which you obtain this Sap has changed but not the Tree.

For as I move now, fresh pain batters me;

The scabs from previous lesions have

Been deftly picked away. . .

I shiver as the wind dries my blood in cakes . . .

These pastries you consume . . .

In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .

I witness your baptism . . .

I watch as you  repeatedly submerge yourself

In that Sacred River . . .

In that Sacred River . . . of my Blood.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit . . .

Mankind was made in God’s image

He made me without clothes

For the ground, air and water in that region

Are forever bathed in the warmth of the Sun.

Many great men in history resembled Me.

From the original Jews, to Moses and the man from Nazareth

All had hair that was kinky,

And skin that shone with color of mahogany.

How does one account for You . . .?

You are part of Me

A distant part of my genetic history

That long since went north

Looking for worldly things

That you could have well done without.

In the process lost your humanity;

Pigmentation lost in the coldness of your quest.

Now you return to the Cradle

Bleached, infected by demons

My Mother used to protect you from.

Instead of finding cure for the obvious ailment

You deem it a condition of being enlightened by the Book

The Book which I fashioned and gave to you as a gift

Many eons ago so that the Evil One

Would not rape your Soul . . .!

But somehow you let it out of your sight

Evil replaced the meat in the bread

With excreta from his loins . . .

Which warped the pages; the letters ran into each other,

Allowing for the misinterpretation of the Word . . .

The cold must be wiped from your eyes

Look at me: I am He . . .

Man was made in God’s own image . . .

Man was made in God’s own image . . .

Man was made in God’s own image . . .

Mankind first drew breath where the Sun and my skin

Are forever lovers . . .

So I thus must entreat you to this fact:

I was the first one,

I am the dusky immortal that has watched you through the ages.

You have long prayed to my brethren and I . . .

You have long persecuted my brethren and I . . .

But your consumption of the tainted Word

Has so affected your senses,

You in your delirium thought that God was/is You . . .

You in your delirium have been eating me alive . . .

Spilling, drinking vast quantities of my blood . . .

But like the True God

The real ones don’t die . . .

So you in your quandary try to eradicate

This anomaly that you don’t comprehend . . .

So you lacerate, desecrate, castrate and contaminate

The humble temples where I reside . . .

You seek to erase all traces of my face . . .

. . . And you call yourself God-fearing . . .?

You loathe me . . . who gave you form . . .!

So now . . . what is your justification

For your deeds . . .?

Please don’t mock me by uttering . . .

“In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .”

I have witnessed your baptism . . .

I have watched as you  repeatedly submerged yourself

In that Sacred River . . .

In that Sacred River . . . of my Blood.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit . . .

In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit . . .

As the man turns to leave, the din in the beginning again rises . . . and he begins to pump his fist in the air.  But slowly over the ‘noise’ Billy Holiday’s ‘Strange Fruit’ begins to play along with the sound of a wind gale.  The stage lighting turns dark and foreboding, the lights flicker and slowly dim . . . and leaves blow from Stage Left to Stage Right . . . riding the apparent thermals we’re hearing. 

As the man exits upstage right thunder and lightning are heard and the place lights up to reflect the same . . . then it all goes to Black . . .