by Zach Kincaid
In the face of hosannas alluring ease,
you saw through the veil of cloaks and palms
to find the soul of restless humanity who
spat and hurled insults within the week
the dying messiah who wouldn't speak
ignoring the politic while submitting to
the instrument designed that day to
reconcile sin by the color red.
I want to love as you have loved me.
I want to love my neighbor as myself and love my enemy.
I want to love as you have loved me.
“Surely this is the Son of God,” one said
as your body became the wine and bread
and the whole world was reordered anew again.
It was your vulnerability which I want to embrace
because my feet run so swiftly to defend
what I know I can’t protect while
I try to afford the hate that’s never free.
I want to love as you have loved me.
I want to love my neighbor as myself and love my enemy.
I want to love as you have loved me.
It’s simple to twist your truth into a relative game
since it softens all the corners of your Gospel, hinged on
nails that pound out no pounds of flesh
but demands body, mind, and soul of all who follow.
So, I pray I never want to broaden
the straight and narrow way, and never
attempt to lighten the weight of your love.
I want to love as you have loved me.
I want to love my neighbor as myself and love my enemy.
I want to love as you have loved me.