One
By
Yopo
(A reaction to a conversation with a person
who asserted he had concern for
the safety of my immortal soul.
He, of course, is in no such danger.)
“One,” he said, “and only One
(Though sometimes, maybe, there are Three,
An arithmetic Mystery)
But any more is blasphemy,
Of that, you can be certain.
“One did come, all others, false,
And those who’d honor others, lost,
As all are lost who came before,
Not one will pass the Narrow Door,
No quarter shall be given!
“Do as you will, but do in shame,
Confess what you’ll likely do again,
Then beg forgiveness in the Name,
To be absolved of inborn blame,
For Evil is in your Nature.”
“But what,” I asked, “of voices heard
On shaded paths through ancient woods?
Of whispers in the groves of oak,
And songs within the rushing brook?
They do not speak of blame, or retribution…”
“I hear no words in wood or stream,
At best, they’re but imaginings,
At worst, you hear The Enemy”
(And now we’ve Four, instead of Three?)
“No quarter shall be given!”
What I then thought, I did not say,
For I’d not dishonor another’s Way,
But if we find the Door is barred
By such, who hold us in low regard,
We shall paint our faces with woad again,
And storm the very gates of heaven.
©2004 Gregory S. Hargrave
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