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That Night, You Said To Matthew, "He Had Talked With Me"
Matthew, your limp-wrist sympathies you ought to shelve---
those words that promise blessedness to all the meek;
is that the kind of Kingdom's rights we came to seek?
Just as you are, I was one of the chosen Twelve:
the Master granted me, too, powers, and talked with me---
and did not much proclaim what I was truly like:
snake in the grass (that pagan's words), well posed to strike,
most often when I heard how His Words disagree
with what I think of craven Rome, politically,
and my conservative, constant, morality;
like when I dared appeal to common wisdom for
money, wasted on ointment, that could feed the poor.
He never wanted my comments in opposition.
Lady, if you dispute some rule that He has spoken,
stand firm, and do not let yourself be bent or broken;
but be possessive of your independent soul;
make your rights sure---for them you are responsible;
but have your say, and make your way, not part but full,
before you lose your Apostolic pedestal.
I seem to hear His words of me, Son of Perdition . . .
Now go, and put your sandals on your reeking feet;
I need no more of your self-righteous talk's conceit.
I need to toss these silver coins in one broad fling.
and then I need to find a place where I can swing . . .
Starward
[*/+/^]
