Michael Pollick Poetry

Pilate is doomed to clean his rifle forever-
The walls will not forget these nights.

If you decide to brave
the waters
of sanctioned terror,
be sure to wear your Christ;

Should you decide
to share
your scraps
of hard-won Gospel,
sharpen your sword
against the bars.

Our hearts are forced to cry out
for the rocks that bury you.
We cannot hide in the folds
of our Thanksgiving dinners.

The building fund will not spare you
one ounce of punishment-
If it would mean your freedom,
we can live without the carpeting.

And you who would keep
our brothers
far from
their families,
I would not
get so comfortable-
The God I choose
to serve has been
moved to righteous anger.

You will not treat His children like cattle.

(Author's personal note to those
who find comfort in repression:

While you were so busy filling
your filthy holes with saints,
I did a little work on your geography-

all your misguided roads now lead to Damascus.)

Poet: Michael Pollick