Perplexed

I remember when I climbed the stair
Pulled away the rock
Saw the open air
How I felt the shock
Of just being there
Alive and aware
Of the great despair
That my death had wrought
On my loyal flock.

As I walked once more in the open air
‘Neath the cypress trees, midst a gentle breeze
There arose a sensation beyond compare
Of the road that we travel beyond the seas
Of a path on a journey that always leads
To a land whose destination no one sees
Confused in our minds with our special needs
That we learn to appreciate by degrees
A realm whose goal is our masterpiece.

And it struck me at once that all I’d said
That all I’d done in my Father’s stead
Could easily be misinterpreted
As a kind of false prerogative
That could simply fail to lead
To anything more than corruption and greed
Bearing in mind the special creed
That human beings everywhere
Cannot help but have their share
Of conflict, hatred and despair.

And as I pondered on the fate
That had overtaken me of late
It seemed there could be nothing worse
Than having to fulfill a curse
Of everlasting emptiness
Of perfect unknowingness
Where nothing mattered, more or less,
Not even when the end was death.

So I went on my quiet way
Encountering little children at play
I couldn’t think of what to say
Having so lately gone away
To a land whose borne no man can say
Where those who dwell have lost their way
I who had just been on high
I who had been crucified.

But what kind of progress can be made
With beings who cannot behave?
Who have no sense of right and wrong
Who hate the weak and love the strong
Whose joy is to torment the likes
Of those they use as sacrifice.

Well, there’s always evolution,
Maybe that’s the solution
We may not know our destination
But by means of resurrection
Or, if you like, reincarnation
We may, without prevarication
Steadily advance our station.

And so, although I am not pleased
To suffer so through life’s disease
It may ultimately appease
The gods whose whims we seek to please.
And through it all to seek some goal
Elusive as a child’s soul
As never-endingly we stroll
Towards the Heavens we extol.

It’s not a game, but has the feel
Of something that is more surreal
Than what is meant by when we say
We’re dealing with reality
And through it all, the joy and pain
Humiliation’s trifling game
If our life’s problems still remain
We shall simply come back again.

© Copyright Jerome Raymond Kraus 2005