This is one of the only poems I've ever written. I wrote it for an English class over 20 years ago when I was a senior in high school.
Yes, it represents adolescent angst. And the collision of a culturally established, conservative Southern Baptist ethos with a perhaps too-early-exposure to Kierkegaard and C. S. Lewis. And an intense dislike of televangelists (I'm still not a fan).
Plus, I think it's more ominous (and perhaps even vengeful?) than my theological leanings now embrace (at least on good days).
Let's just say it doesn't fully represent my current faith.
And yet, there's something about this poem that I can't fully escape, even after all of these year.
The Certain Change of Seasons
Oh the sun shifts simmering
rays of sunlight down into the green
grass of springtime
as surely as if winter never always comes.
Counterfeit Christ the conservative screams
a million dreams from the t.v. screen
while unheeded pounds the sound of distant drums
While winter hangs stiff and bleeding
from a hard wood cross,
cries of, "My God, my God,
why don't you forsake us?" are
reeling and spilling
and clanging and jingling
through the cold black holes
of our pockets.