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Jesus, shiny haired hippy.
Happy vision fading.
More cryptic and edgy.
Mason not carpenter.
Not pastor but seer.
Pronouncements, puzzling.
Parables, obscure.
Mystery man. Gargantuan hubris.
Calling yourself the one sent by God.

Sappy savior fades and a sharper messiah
sits by the well and stands by the temple.
Shouts and spits, cracks whips and drowns pigs.
Who are you? A gentle genie from the magic lamp black book?
Where are you going? May I come and see?

Those who met you shrieked and prostrated, cheered and jeered.
But now your domestication provokes no awe.
Yet your spirit-seal pulses in my breast
Faith grace throbbing the case of ribs.

I look on wistfully but with fear, too.
This rough Nazarene.
His association severs servitude and civility.
Only a rough rebel could loose this maelstrom of exhilaration.
A desire to be free and a cause to care.