Every Broken Thing

Altered Jesus
The Poetry Of Lance McKnight
Altered Jesus

This one evidences no scar - No rips
or flaps of ragged flesh healed over
in horrid remnants we must futilely examine,
press our hands against, as if proof
the screams are not merely echoes of naiveté
or dreams you scarcely can recall. Like journal pages

from our fathers whose art hangs
in urban havens - walking down hallowed halls
named regretfully after kingdoms buried long ago.
The will, finally read, encapsulated here on earth.

Remembered, as it is, in heaven. A man,
unrecognized by gait, robe or bearing. Skulking
silently away and, this time, rarely pursued.