Why I Am Here
I had just put the Bible down
And a new accusation appeared
In the form of a dogmatic broken record
I've heard this sound before.
Will you support our cause sir
For the starving, the mad, the lost?
The empty churches miss the sighs
And the virgin still sits hollow.
Jesus hides in the celestial library
Where no one here can patent his
Ideas of peace, tranquility and the other cheek.
The Buddha sits quietly, unprovoked,
But who goes to join him?
Allah has not finished his interrogation
Of the mad man on his white stallion
It all flows forward toward me
Like a mad, rush-hour traffic jam
Of lights and horns and screeching.
Perhaps these crazed souls have fallen
From heavens backyard only to continue
The upper strife on a lower limb?
Each voice has an argument
With copyrighted judgments --
Such fertile fuel.
The vines that grow from this soil
Cloud the air with tangles and discord
It is funny though, that after adopting
This group, this method, this posture,
I finally realize that my sole purpose
In this life is to shed everything and
Return with nothing.
In perfect hatred will they say of me, he
Finally believes in nothing.
As my breath comes to peace with He that is All.
That is why I am here.
Poem © 2000 Fred Houpt, all rights reserved
appears here by permission