Poetry

WITHOUT THE KNOWLEDGE OF SIN

by Walter Boswell
03/19/19
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Without the Knowledge of Sin

                At stake in the wood

is the tinderbox of hope’s last fire:

a travel business without a convenient mileage chart,

a chained log of no net interest to the web-constrained.

                At cup in the world,

in the dregs of whose silver chalice

resides a communion of more blood than wine –

hands shaped for the reception: let history remain its judge.

                Admonish in the walk,

NOT KNOWING, not knowing what eyes peer from the altar;

a troubling menace of a religion, himself in danger,

hoping selfish hearts will bend        to do them-selves good.

                     Not knowing if and when to administer,

                since both the synonyms and the antonyms,

                                the squares and the circles,

                are all displeasing to his histrionic draw –

                          ad hoc the knowing why frowns

       continually paint the face of God below the brow.

Still Bowed

Wherefore have you come to me, except to be healed?

Wherefore have you cried outside prayers to resistance?

                Surely there is not much to recommend your presence –

present the leeching of your vain arteries,

                                the cutting of other’s pocket strings

                                more cashiered for your drugs of habit,

                                                still immune to your poison drink.

                Now fully quenched and sick with misery,

coming like a whore forsaken of men and life

                bearing gifts of salt and tears for atonement

                                 to scent the air with perfumed love,

                                share a baptism with his mournful grace.

Therefore have you come to me, accepted to be healed;

therefore have you cried within a praise of for-giveness:

                a heaven kneeling in relief of humility’s bow.

Zero

                        Always a zero fun-time

                     playing the zero-sum game.

Zero comfort by the trainers for their freezing animals.

Zero dedication by the doctor for their aging veterans.

Zero bounty by the police officer for hunted cop killers.

Zero latitude by the white judge for all gang members.

Zero recompense by the black activist for a white victim.

Zero heart by the female social worker for the homeless.

Zero extension by the caregiver for the customer child.

Zero understanding by the politician for a try at honesty.

                  Zero love for the wayward sinner.

                   Zero loss in heaven without you.

Dr. Walter Boswell

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