JESUS AND HIS CROWD

He’d long known it was short of reason

To think a life spent other-pleasing

Would yield much more than pat on back.

He knew it was a lie, in fact,

That life lived trying to curry favor

Was anything but low behavior.

He sensed that only carving trails

Redeemed departure from the rails

By making others think that he

Was just where he had meant to be.

So it is with all known figures:

Being ordinary triggers

Drive to make oneself into

Something different, something new,

One who others have to say

Follows only his own way.

But being humans, figures fail

To give much thought if heaven, hell

Is stopping point of where they lead—

Just leading seems to fill their need.

Some make monsters, few make saint,

But all such figures lose restraint;

They come to see themselves apart

From what defines mere human heart

And choose to think their hearts instead

Decide where all hearts should be led,

Forgetting that they’re figures made

By claiming they’re of higher grade.

Such claim makes figures poorly fit

To guide dull proletariat.

Written January 1, 2023
©2023 Lawrence Helms