Parable

     (with thanks to Richard Christopher Burriesci)

                                   By Jeannette Drake

And Jesus said,

 "know not that ye are nomads

 on the great cosmic highway?" 

     I will hand you a cup.

     I will draw you a map.

     I will tell you a story.

     A certain bright light went out

from the north vestibule of heaven

and per chance fell upon The Milky Way,

cascading near a blue planet called earth,

and some on that planet were cut off

from that bright light to stumble

through total Darkness. 

And their nights were filled with song.

    Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb.

    Mary had a little lamb. His feet were white as snow

    And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.

Near and far in burning sands, women and babies sat,

bellies bloated, their wells run dry, waiting for buzzards

to pick their bones. 

    I will hand you a cup.

    I will draw you a map.

    I will tell you a story.

And then there shone upon a second scene

those men with thin, small machines

taped along their ears,

their lips moved quickly

the numbers they had to hear.

One spoke aloud

and drew a crowd.

     "Hey Dudes

     My name's Jude.

     With a capital J.

     I've got Jasmine for sale.

     Her little sister, too

     bound to please you.

And from the trees,

the leaves did grieve,

the yellows fell to earth

to die. Red ants ran wild

and grass refused to grow.

And from the hills,

ten thousand screams.

The labor mart was spent.

And Jesus said,

   "know not that ye are nomads

   on the great cosmic highway?"

I will build you a workbench.       

© 8-5-07 Jeannette Drake