The Jesus Weed

Poem By Marshall Gass

Behind the gate that pretended to be locked
lurked in the half shut window
a sage
solitude soaked and driven by impulse
to look away when questioned.
He was a lone man with lifetime wisdom.

Patch on lakeside worshipped the weed
grew in grace and abundance
tendered tenderly, as if, the soul
invested in the soil spirit would
rise through pipes produced to suck
lungfuls and sit back and watch
the sky bend in ecstasy.
The surge climbed nerves
settled pumping heart.

He said he saw the Christ
cry on the cross stifled by the nails
and thorny weeds akin
to smoke and sustenance he now bequeathed
to silence.

The greater sorrow
nursed being unable to float
free from the injustice that lay thick bark
on magnificent tree. He ran as fast as his conscience could take
him to the outer reaches of society
where nirvanas quiet life of contemplation opened.

an evening listening to him profound
the lectures the worlds knowing
learned his talk of the next kingdom.

Quiet in the night of haze
and damp sweet smells
he dreamed a patch in afterlife too.

Author Notes
We all know this man.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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