On a whim sprung out of nowhere
I begin to worship the crucified.
Not just the Christ, but anyone
who has suffered great torment.
Maybe it is not worship, but
a feeling of kinship
in the search for honor codes
that people strive to live by.
I guess I should include the monk
of that famous self-immolation video
from June of sixty-three
whose sacrifice was not honored.
Maybe it is to appreciate directly
through simple acknowledgement
all the acts of kindness I observe
and how no one asked permission
or weighed whether it was a selfless act
or a calculated one on the learning curve
to prepare the soul for crossing over.
This trying to find words for a feeling
drives me a bit crazy—
like trying to ignore the monsters
emerging from my personal history.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney