Funerary Paths


Yes. There is but one Way. Only.
Am I lost? If I do not walk the path
you walked: do not swim the rivers
that gave you baptism; do not dance
to your hymns. Am I lost? Because I do not
walk your route.
I claim no messiah. You claim chief priests.
Sanhedrin. Your eyes scream crucify him!
I feel them on my back. Sneering at the
breaker of spikenard bottles.
our sermons keep interrogating me:
“By what authority do you do these things?”
Your reference to authority indicates belief in obedience.
But do I disobey because I don’t obey the way you do?
Love God. Keep His commandments.
In keeping know these two:
Love God. All your heart.
All your mind. All your soul.
All your strength. Love.
Your neighbour.
I’m no expert but I may have stumbled
on this somewhere:
“Love in deed, not in word”.
How can I see your love
unless your actions show me?
Maybe I’m Bartaemeus.
I have heard Jesus is passing this way.
No way I’m going to shut up.
So I cast off these rags of confinement
you wrap me in.
What is the use of love not perfect?
It is good for nothing except to be trampled
under feet.
For perfect love casts out fear.
Where there is fear, doubt lingers too.
Show me the saint that doubts,
and I will show you a man that can’t please God.
But what do I know? I am just a Samaritan.
Not good enough. Leave goodness to the folks
who never miss Sunday service. Their goodness
wears ostentatious Sunday garments.
It pays mammoth tithes dug from the well
of deep pockets.
Their goodness buys them front VIP seats
to the Sunday charade. Their goodness is on parade.
My goodness? My goodness! A renegade!
Keep walking. They don’t want me here.
I’m not buying the brand of gospel they are marketing.
Jesus on sale: by one anointing oil, get one miracle for free.
I cannot afford this Jesus. All I have is the currency
of a willing heart.
Cynic? Me? No. I believe too. But I’ve seen it.
The epitaph on the church’s tombstone:
“Screamed the highest hallelujah
baptized in the most anointed of oils
‘receive-it’-stamped prophecies; a holy communion.
Here lies the faith, that never worked”
I am not here for a funeral. One already died.
I am already dead. Waste not the wine.
Waste not new wine. Why these old skins?
It’s like you rebranded your sins.
Made them fashionable with your intellectual doctrines.
But I’m the lost one. The mad one.
Because I embrace the freedom death brings.
This road of yours. It’s too treacherous.
For my feet.


Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.


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