If Christ Came, Would You Take His Place?

If Christ Came, would

You take his cross &

Feed the poor, knowing

that he will walk free while

you take his place?

 

If Christ came, would

You take up the cross

& weep before your mother,

while someone you knew

is lowered in a coffin

& returned to the earth?

 

On your knees would you

Weep under the heavens;

without the power to resurrect,

without the strength to

Undo death, without chance

to hold that person again?

 

If Christ came, would

take up the thorns &

bleed away your dignity, 

and the last of your humanity

as you face the lashes

of a whip

cracking on your bare back?

 

Seen yet shamed,

Shamed & pitied upon

by the world, would you

take up his title if

he came?

 

If Christ came, would

you take up the cloth

that was ripped from your

human body so you may

be left bruised and

bloodied? 

 

Would you try to cover

your nakedness with

that torn cloth & simply

let the rivers of your eyes

flow?

 

If Christ Came, would

you wither the storm,

without the ability to

the calm the sea, or

to walk upon it safely

to land?

 

If Christ Came, would

you preach in the fields?

Would you preach

in the churches and

synagogues?

Would you preach in

the temples?

 

Would you flip the

tables of trading merchants

that have degraded your

father's temple?

 

If Christ came, would

you be able to look

at him in the eye?

 

If Christ came, would

you tell him that you

never trespassed your

brothers widow?

 

If Christ came, would

you tell him That you

visited those

who were sick and imprisoned?

& that you fed the hungry

and the needy?

 

Would you tell him

that your never tripped

or stumbled a kid on

their way to the lord?

 

Would tell him

that you loved your

neighbor and your

enemies? and that

you never

mistreated the foreigner

that lived with you?

 

If Christ Came,

Would You Take Up

His Cross the way

he did for you?

King’s Confession Poem 6/8/25

 

As I left my throne

As I mostly do when I leave

To tend to my dishonorable sins,

 For the apple of thy neck is

Greater than the

Serpents bite

 

Hedonism is of

Great devils gift; hide

The scriptures if Aphrodite

Is watching

 

 As sin

Devoured my flesh

A king that holds

No crown grew teeth

To bite my wrongs

shedding their blood

 

He ruled and spoke

In the most Opprobrious ways—

Unbecoming of my throne

He slandered my wife baptizing her

As a whore before my knights

 

For there is a king

On my throne with no crown

I call him the fool who

Rises in the absence of reality

And justice

 

Yet in the visions of

my dreams, I see my kingdom

swallow itself — for

my disgraceful acts that

even the wind

has whispered to the ground

 

Choking the chicken is I

A creation endowed my creator,

Covered in sin and blood

That is not mine, yet

Stains me in a way

I wish I could wash away

Like the man that

Tried the Son Of Man

 

I weep before the husband

That I yoked to

Stand beside me

In sickness and in health

Yet he has changed

 

His crown has been tossed

Out into a bed of red,

For he is stained like   

Withering flesh on its

Last legs

At death’s door

 

For this is the

King’s Confession

To A Hanging Government,

That salted in its

Public Duties

The Systems of Man // Poem

 For are these the systems of man? 

A government that has done more to 

Cry out the lord’s name to proclaim,

The governed people and nation “Christian,”

Are these the same systems in which the 

Patriarchy draws its power, the very thing 

[power] that feeds into the paternity, 

A hunger that has torn, A woman’s body

Of its dignity, which has disgraced her right to

Rest in peace—

For a pregnancy was far greater than the life 

of a mother 

For are these the systems of man? 

That we use religion to “cloak” our 

Condemnation of others when we ourselves 

Have a plank in our eye and fail to hold,

Our own house {accountable], Is this the 

System of man that we find trouble in a kid, 

Changing gender so they can find comfort in the 

Correct body, the system of man that is failing. 

To care for the least of those, for 

Our eyes are obscured to reality by 

our own 

Sins that we have fallen asleep in the 

Hands of a grinning demon, for we may 

Not be home but [someone] else is

For why has the [home] fallen dark 

All but the one candle in the window 

Where [living room] we spend our time 

For no one is truly home. 

Or is this a dream? And will we ever wake 

Up to the thing that is holding your 

Front door open with [crooking smile] 

A smile so {warm] that we ignore the door 

That is ajar from its hinges, and the 

“Welcome” sign  has the word [welcome] 

Crossed out 

You take a seat at the [table] but it's no 

Longer home, its a place they call {school] 

Where students are [taught] to silence themselves 

When an adult speaks, and to {think} of questions 

They pose throughout the day, 

Are these the [systems] of man? They had 

Years to {[fix]} the systems they now will 

Entrust us with, the pain, the burden, the 

Unlivable [economy] that of {[Generations 

Past]}

[Are these the systems] of [man]{?} 

That wear robes of ({white]) but hide 

Their curseth breath under the blood of 

Christ, They preach {[([love])} while 

Condemning the ones outside their own home, 

The home the body of the almighty,  

For shouldn’t the church that is built by [St 

Peter] be {<open to all?>} yet not everyone 

Is at table of {communion}] where the 

Father sits

{For are Christians really {[following]} close 

behind} 

For these are the [systems of man} 

Unmasked, unclean, and covered in 

A false sense of {[truth]}, 

Built on lies, and weaponization of 

The seen and the unseen, built against:

The Blind,

The Hungry,

The Sick, 

The Imprisoned, 

The Unhoused, 

against The Abused, 

The Raped, 

The Young, 

The Elderly, 

The Educators, 

The Refugee, 

The Marginlized, 

The Immigrants, 

The Insane, 

The Drug User, 

The Disabled, 

The Orphan, 

The Juvenile,  

The Gunned Down Kids, 

The Surviours, 

The Widow, 

The Starving Children that are

Down on their luck you see,  

The Single Moms & Dads, 

The Kids that grew up to early, 

How DARE WE forget those 

Behind us ({[<These are the systems of man>]})

MY HEARTS HYMN // Poem

Walk with me in the middle

of California’s summer heat,

where fools are we,

in the arrival of a second summer.

Lover of ours, tell us —

is your name engraved

on our soul

and in the heavens above?

Lover of ours, don’t you

worry, for we’re your knights

on the battlefield, where

your heart is our prize —

our most precious gem,

that even a million jewels

can’t replace

When we return

to you, our lover,

we shall eat and drink —

the grapes and the wine

which will bear our fertility,

spilling summer’s squashed berries

into our mouths,

letting it run like a waterfall

down our throats.

And should our

hands do more than

holding, let the

demons blush

for our sins

of deathly summer’s darkness.

Walk with me, love,

before the grapes grow shy,

before the moon catches us

with lips still stained

and the night learns

what our bodies have done

The Lord & The Immigrant // Poem

 Children of I—

I was a stranger amongst you, 

You welcomed me,  housed me,

fed me, and clothed me but soon you 

Shut the gates on me as I bled in the sun in 

Which you scorched me with— for I was

Questioned and you didn’t defend me, 

I was detained and you didn’t say goodbye, 

I was forgotten and you didn’t remember me, 

But I remembered you—

I prayed for you 

Children of I the Alpha—

I am Lord of Lords I have eyes for 

The blind, and feet for the lame, 

I am father of all my children, 

Father of the needy, the poor, the 

Sick and confused, lonely and 

The empty, Truly I say to the 

Nations in the four corners— the 

Strangers in your land are my anointed, 

And cursed is the one who withholds

Justice from the foreigner, the fatherless and 

The widow  

Children of I— 

I am the Alpha and the Omega—

The beginning and the end, truly 

I say to you, you neglected hospitality to 

The strangers, you have forgotten 

Those in prison, those who were 

Tortured, for you were once them, 

Weren’t you strangers in the land of 

Egypt? 

Children of I—

Did I not stretch out my hand to you?

Did I not speak through prophets, through 

Dreams, through the cries of children locked 

In cages? But you silenced them— 

You turned worship into spectacle, 

Law into Weapon, and you 

Did not know ME—

You built walls in my name, 

You signed laws in my name, 

You turned your face as I wept at the border 

And in your streets as I was dragged away, 

You invoked my words, but not my spirit, 

You praised me with lips while cursing the 

Ones made in my image 

Children of I— 

When you arrive before my fathers 

Throne I shall pass judgement for what 

You did not do for the poor, the needy, and 

The sick you did not do for me, for you 

Did not know me and I did not know you, 

But my hand of love and justice still knocks—

Open the door of your heart and welcome me 

In

Bajo La Lluvia; Esperándote // Poem

 Aquí estaré en la lluvia y bajo mi paraguas 

Esperando por ti y por tu amor, a solas, 

No importa si los días se vuelven noche

Pero bajo este paraguas y la luz de una 

Lámpara de la calle estaré, mi alma puede

Estar pesada, mis manos pueden estar llenas 

Pero mi corazón es inquebrantable en su amor

Por ti, no fueron las mujeres formadas de la 

Costilla de Adán mientras dormía en el 

Jardín, porque mi corazón repite el mensaje 

Las mujeres son iguales al hombre   

No me iré incluso cuando otras mujeres 

Se atreven a llevarme de la mano a un hogar 

Que no llamaré mío, mi corazón me mantendrá 

En mi convicción si yo te fuera infiel— 

Y lo que yo sé es la verdad, tu amor es mío

Y mi amor es tuyo hasta que la muerte nos

Separe— confieso que soy un pecador por 

Mi culpa, mi gran culpa que confieso ante 

El Dios todopoderoso abajo de este paraguas 

“…Que he pecado mucho de Pensamiento, Palabra, 

Obra y Omisión…”  

Aunque tú no aparezcas, el Señor me ha dado 

Su favor porque he encontrado una cosa buena, 

Tu corazón es mi más preciado, más que una simple 

Joya, corre hacia mí, amor mío, y vámonos—

Porque bajo esta sombrilla yo esperare por ti 

“Y ahora permanecen estos tres: La Fe 

La Esperanza y El Amor. Pero el 

Mayor es El Amor” 

— 1 Corintios 13:13 

Somewhere // Poem

 Somewhere I read 

To love God with all your heart 

And soul for it is 

The greatest command 

Somewhere I read 

To love thy neighbor as

Yourself

 

Somewhere I read 

for whatever you did for the

Least of these you did for me 

Somewhere I read 

That Lord Our God 

So loved his creation 

He sent his only son

 

Somewhere I read 

To love and pray 

For our enemies and 

Those who seek to persecute 

Us 

Somewhere I read 

To forgive those 

Who trespass against 

Us so we may be forgiven 

In heaven 

Somewhere I read 

To humble ourselves 

That we may be exalted from 

The heavens 

Somewhere I read 

To not mistreat the 

Foreigner that lives amongst 

Our lands but welcome 

Them

Somewhere I read 

That our father has eyes 

For the blind, ears for 

The deaf, and strength for 

The lame 

Somewhere I read 

The Lord Our God 

Stands with the oppressed, 

The widow, and the orphan

Somewhere I read 

That so whoever leans

Upon the Lord will never grow 

Weary, Sick or Confused, lone 

Or empty  

America’s Eulogy // Poem

250 years ago, she was born, a young 

Nation that rocked the worlds foundation,

She grabbed the British crown 

By its jewels and wrestled till the crown fled back 

Across the Atlantic Ocean humiliated,

the once “United Colonies” rose its flag under the bombs red Glare, the glare that lit up the night sky—

And still, the flag was there waving wild and free 

From the state of Delaware in 1787 to 

The Rise of Maine in 1790, to Hawaii 

In 1959—the last star of our imperfect 

union.

Our union grew with her arms stretching out to territories

just beyond our shores—

Guam in 1889, the glorious rise of

Puerto Rico the same year, 

American Samoa in 1990, but her hunger for more was strong 

The Virgin Islands has been purchased in 1917— 

Northern Mariana Islands out of the U.N 

it came under her control in 1986—

She gained more land but lost her soul 

In the process yet with every reach atrocities came, 

the Atrocities of Uncle Sam that painted her hands 

with blood, A forsaken guilt for a nation still growing: 

The Trail of Tears that removed 

Indigenous people from their land— to 

The Sand Creek Massacre in 1864 

A Day of bloodshed on her precious 

Californian soil as the California 

Genocide swept through, the ground 

Drank “Wine” that day and swallowed 

As the ground pleaded to the heavens to cover 

It’s eyes and the eyes of the creator in the sky

 

Blood was shed just beyond our shores in the

Village of My Lai Vietnam,

the hands of a nation holding a dying heart

as it continued its atrocities 

From the thick jungles of Vietnam down across

The sea to the Philippines, Where

She cloaked her bullets in the name of freedom. 

A war declared “for peace”—

Yet villages burned, children shot

The “water cure" poured into mouths

 that dared to resist. 

Bodies piled in Balangiga.

A nation once promised liberation

Was handed occupation instead.

A scapegoating event as masses of

Mexican Americans including American 

Citizens are forcefully deported in the 1930s

Blamed for stealing jobs,

accused of deepening

a nation’s growing desperation

in the thick of the Great Depression.

The dehumanization of Japanese immigrants—

a nation so entrenched in fear of an attack within

that it caged its own,

internment camps holding the people

they feared,

not for guilt,

but out of paranoia.

And now— “SAY THEIR NAME,”

as people push through day and night,

marching, kneeling, shouting—

challenging a legal system

that keeps on failing.

George Floyd.

Eric Garner.

Michael Brown.

Breonna Taylor.

And too many more.

Yet history will not forget, as 

Innocent lives arrived down south 

carried on ships, shackled by chains and 

Forced on the fields of cotton, 

As the air is filled with— 

Screams,

Songs of Praise of the souls whose 

Spirits aren’t crushed for it is the hands of 

The enslaved and the immigrants our 

Democracy is built on, their blood and sweat,

And above it all our homes are on-top 

Of hidden bodies 

From a distant nightmare to a new one—

the Trump Administration has returned.

Fear is the new order, as our friends, colleagues, 

and family are snatched from the streets by 

Immigration

the modern Gestapo while Congress is rendered

pathetic and weak, failing their oath to the Constitution.

Republicans dodge their own constituents

a shameful retreat, as they huddle to pray

for the passage of “The Big Beautiful Bill”

that stripped millions of their healthcare.

Yet they are Christians? “Truly, I say to you,

as you did not do it to one of the least of these,

you did not do it to me.”

And the Lord will not sit complicit

on His throne. He will pass judgment—

not just on the nation, but on our moral 

souls. 

And what of the Court—

nine robed arbiters of truth,

seated beneath high ceilings

but unmoved by the cries below?

They stripped the womb of its rights,

gutted the ballot,

served corporations

and cloaked it all in “constitution.”

They sit as gods in marble temples—

but they do not hear

the prayers of the people.

Their silence is not holy.

It is cowardice

in disguise.

So, this our dying melody, 

A flame that is dwindling in 

The crown of our lady of liberty, 

As France paints it on a wall covering 

Her face, the cover of shame cause 

The nation that she represents is losing 

It’s freedom and democracy as July 4th 

Could be the day a nation died under its 

Own divide—

So, this is the democracy our 

Founding father built, only to watch 

From the heavens above as the lady 

Above the capitol dome sees the cracks 

On her rotunda but her senators are blind 

And shackled to “fall in line” … 

Will liberty mourn her own death—

or did we kill her long ago and forget the funeral?