4 And the bone-deep scars of the slaves,
5 And the acrid embers of Atlanta,
6 And the amputation tent at Antietam,
7 And the rape and ruin of a million homes,
8 And children dying of hunger and typhoid and loneliness,
9 And all of it could be avoided if he would put aside the principle,
10 And admit that no idea can ever be worth all this,
11 Because no idea can justify an inquisition,
12 Or the burning of a heretic,
13 Or the madness of religious guilt and the devouring fear of sin,
14 aAnd all the rest of what flows from the wounds of a single man nailed to a cross in the desert.
CHAPTER 201 But all of everything is in his eyes.
2 And the principle is there too,
3 And he will not cast it down,
4 Not now,
5 Not ever,
6 But clothes himself in it like a flag,
7 Because he knows something I once knew,
8 But have forgotten,
9 Or never learned right in the first place,
10 If only I could remember what it was.
CHAPTER 211 bThere are holes in his hands.
2 He holds them out to me,
3 Lets me take the long cold Lincoln fingers of a murdered son of God,
4 And then he grips my hand, so that I can feel my bones crack in his clasp,
5 And he says, "It is simpler than you think,
6 "And bigger too,
7 c"And life is not a frail thing that disappears in a puff of fear,
8 "But far stronger than you know,
9 "And though it knows its time,
10 "It is never imprisoned by it,
11 "Never done in by it against its will,
12 "Because the weakest something is stronger than the strongest nothing,
13 d"And nothing never wins."
CHAPTER 221 Not Jesus, not Lincoln, but echemicals,
2 And still I listen,
3 Because I do not want to die of fear and a broken heart,
4 In the midst of all this crucifying loneliness,
5 Surrounded by the drugged and dead and dying,
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6 Who have forgotten how to live,
7 fAnd so I nod my head at hallucinations,
8 And I ask this Jesus Lincoln or Abraham Christ who holds my hand for understanding of what has been and what will come,
9 gAnd he shines at me like a new penny,
10 Glowing brighter than the chrome legs of a gurney,
11 Until even the linoleum floor is ablaze with light,
12 And I see inside it a vision such as I have never seen before,
13 And never will again.
CHAPTER 231 It is almost a scene from a hJohn Ford western,
2 iAnd the cavalry is pinned down in Monument Valley,
3 jAnd the colors are being shot full of holes,
4 And a woman with red hair is in the thick of the fighting,
5 kArmed and bloodied and beautiful,
6 Chanting "Rally to me" in a high clear voice,
7 But the troops are too frightened to listen,
8 Because the enemy isn't Indians this time,
9 lBut Angels on black horses,
10 Angels without mercy.
11 mAnd then I hear a long wailing cry,
12 nAnd a plume of dust is making tracks in the distance,
13 oAnd from the dust itself rise new Angels, red-winged warriors who fly into battle with a furious savagery that is beyond belief,
14 pUntil the dark attacking Angels are vanquished and destroyed,
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