Your Belovéd Shame

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Let me tell the tale of a little sin,
Something uncomfortable—I should name—
The sad, tragic story of the win-win,
Where win’s in the name, but losing’s the game.
In this world it is a belovéd shame—
People love to have a close peek inside—
They love to know your truth while they all hide,
Then they pray to their god for their own way.
If you counter that with truth, they will chide—
Scapegoat the messenger—no time to pray.

But here is the truth—something dark within
Must corrupt the soul like a shadowed flame
Darkening illumination—light thin
Like oxygen on high—it takes the blame
For the soul suffocation left in frame.
I never bring this up just to deride
Pure expressions of belief—faith aside;
However, faith and belief shouldn’t say
Whatever wind may blow—or even glide—
Scapegoat the messenger—no time to pray.

It is here in this story’s dusty bin—
The place where we keep things we need to tame—
That the truth can be dropped, heard like a pin
By all who have been hurt but still became.
That’s right! This verse shall never proclaim
That convenience should ever preside
Over the truth in Christ— Church must subside
For its efforts to silence does betray
Their desire to misguide and then say:
Scapegoat the messenger—no time to pray.

Dearest Church, I address you to reclaim
A truth I know you will never provide—
And once it is heard it’s here to stay—
You cannot—nay!—will not, I must confide,
Scapegoat this messenger—no!—not today.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
 
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