The Wolves are Inadmissible who refuse to lie down with the lamb (poem)

(by Daniel R. Jones)

We’re a peculiar people; out of context,
and those are two separate clauses.
But a faction of the dead can’t long for heaven 
if the swords must be beaten to plowshares 
and spears to pruning hooks.

The Cherubim, fierce and fey with 
hot steel flickering side to side
stand guard at the gates of Paradise, saying:
“The wolves are inadmissible
who refuse to lie down with the Lamb.”

But the goats on the left
follow a star that doesn’t lead to Bethlehem.
“No matter,” they say. 
“It’s heaven enough to prove the atheists wrong.”
The goats proceed to damnation.

Meanwhile, Jesus took bread, saying
“Take, eat; this is my body.”
And his body, blessed and broken
was plenty sufficient for the multitude.
How is it that ye do not understand?

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the wrenching of the HIp that Precedes the Blessing (poem)

(by Daniel R. Jones)

They all went black:
the fixed stars we use 
to navigate our broken lives. 

Now we’re cutting 
our way through the fog,
ambling away from Bethlehem.

Well-aware the cosmic ledger—
light and dark, joy and sorrow
is far from balanced, this side of Elysian fields.

Fearful of what it all means;
there’s a part of your soul that’s nocturnal;
rouses, comes awake when it’s dark.

On the same night
the physicists proved, mathematically
man has no soul,

the mystics proved, artistically
man does have a soul.
I inquired of God: which is true?

I was answered 
by a torrent of silence,
and the silence argued

if a thousand years is like a day,
and a day, a thousand years,
a generation of silence from God

is just a lull in the conversation. 
The silence pained me
like the wrenching of the hip 

that precedes the blessing.
and with each surpassing revelation, 
He became more mysterious.

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