PURPLE WITH PASSION

PURPLE WITH PASSION

Back then I spoke my peace, in sure and measured tones,
Today I speak it haltingly, waving my rainbow flag alone.
Wondering where the party is, those who share my views,
Purple, alas, with passion, those lovely lavender hues.

The church of Christ has all gone home to bake their apple pies,
Afraid of those they do not know, whose views they do despise.
Those awful homosexuals, those devils in disguise.
A nation of haters, toting high their Christian banners.
Forgetting fast the Golden Rule, not to mention manners.

Eating filet of chick with pride, disdain upon his sleeves,
Heaven help the Christian and the victory he achieves.
All at the expense of his nemesis, the dreadful ten percent,
The gay, the lesbian, the differently inclined,
That cannot pierce the barrier of his closed mind,
Basted in hate, perverted and bent,
So sure he’s on the side of Christ,
And what the Savior really meant.
The poor misguided Christian church, drowning in its own malaise,
Is that righteousness upon your sleeve, or a careless dab of mayonnaise?

Back then, I spoke more clearly, but can you hear me now?
My voice needs amplification to carry across the miles.
The miles I still must travel before the blessed sleep,
Across the tired and tough terrain, all up hill and steep.
I could hold my breath just like a child, ‘til I turn black and blue.
And there’d be one less homo in the world.
And that would please the likes of you.

I’ve always loved the sunsets, and I’m heading straight into my own,
Leaving behind a hateful world and the crowd left gathering stones.
And just like Shirley Jackson’s lottery,
I see my neighbor through jaundiced eyes,
His twisted love I do not need, nor his hateful prize.
Love is somehow out of fashion, a child of untenable views,
Black as death is the forlorn future, covered in its Sunday blues.

Still the sunset knows no hate, and the love of God no ending,
And to a heaven welcoming, I modestly kneel bending,
Like the sun fades in the western sky,
My last breath spent in asking why,
Why such fear and judgment,
Before we pierce the firmament?

And if there’s any justice to this life at all.
My spirit it will rise again, once more from the pall.
And I will cross the mighty bar, graceful as a shooting star.
Flaming like a meteor sunset, its colors to imbue,
Purple, alas, with passion, those lovely lavender hues.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED