Blasphemy,
He had a whole page
Of facts about me
An entire biography
I had written myself
From blabbering
But when I set down
To write his
Only a name
Was scrawled in ink
Kind words? A bright face?
But what did he look like
When the moon only shone
On glass fragments
And the air turned dark
From the absence of voices?
I saw Jesus in his heart
He spread his abounding love
By simply talking with those
Who were looked down upon
But besides his acts from a far,
What do I know that he has told me
In hushed, timbre tones
Sober with intentionality?
Shame-faced, I think
“Nothing.”