In the end, after all is done
when the last word is said and gone
He came, will come,
With imperial pomp,
With a slave-boy’s towel:
A true friend to the scapegoats
For others’ fears and failures;
These cast out, shut out
Of a thousand Edens,
The butts of jokes,
The illegitimate, the hoax,
The child, the husband, wife,
Unwanted: at least as now
In frail humanity presented.
Seeking, finding, he
Adopts us, names us,
Stakes his claim upon us;
Belonging, beholden,
We hear here no longer
Sounds of slamming doors,
But proffered keys to pearly gates,
To rooted heavens we enjoy,
Trust and scope in his employ.
So may we be as he was then,
Not usurping the bullies’
Places, nor resting on laurels
From popularity races, but
Becoming clique-breakers,
Circle-openers, communal
Feast-partakers, lifting those
On whose shoulders
We could so easily climb
Back into the tree
Of death-forsakers.


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