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Visitor poem

"The Pulpit and Downstairs"

A poem by Alysha

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Alysha has written a poem dealing with unresolved "religious constraints surrounding a young lesbian battling with her sexuality and the contemplation of suicide." A U.S. government report, since suppressed, reported that the suicide rate of gay and lesbian youth is up to three time higher than among similarly aged Americans with a heterosexual orientation.

She writes: "Gay and lesbian suicide as a result of religious conflict is of great interest to me and I am currently researching ways in which I can be involved..."

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The Pulpit and Downstairs

The man downstairs he looks at me with eyes of understanding
The words he fails to utter are so silent and yet resounding
The man downstairs he looks at me and can hear my muffled bawl
Donít worry my dear", he says to me, "death comes to us all."

The man who shouts upon the pulpit will look at me and laugh
What will be your final word upon your epitaph?
That I have sinned and sinned I have for all of my miserable days?
Have faith in He above my child and repent your wicked ways.

The man downstairs he looks at me and voices his disgust
Heed not these words of nonsense friend, thereís nothing wrong with lust!"
The man downstairs he tugs my hand and beckons me to follow
Come with me now," says he to I, "for there will be no tomorrow."

The man upon the pulpit he shouts "
Resist this sordid path
He above will beat if from you with his love and with his staff
Heíll welcome you into his flock if only you will deny
Your perverted and unnatural life of this I will not lie

The man downstairs he tightens his grip and looks toward the cure
He above canít save you now, youíll never be freed and pure.
Itís all academic and clear as day, itís simply one way or another
You will never be accepted on earth with your chosen lover

The man who shouts upon the pulpit draws close his final plea
Oh child for heavens sake repent and come away with me
He above will heal your ways and cleanse your tainted core
If only youíll accept the fact that you can live like this no more.

The man downstairs grows weary now of all the indecision
Just one hack will end it all, act fast but with precision."
The man downstairs he talks to me with tone so reassuring
It softens as he turns to me, his solution is too alluring.

The man upon the pulpit holds his book as if it were a rod
The unrighteous shall not inherit the virtuous kingdom of God."
The man upon the pulpit is now devoid of all his fear
We cannot condemn nor love or embrace you. God has no love for a queer."

The man downstairs lets out a cry, "
How rich you are in love!
How can you regard such futile words from that fool above?
The choice again is simple my dear, live untrue or die
He above wonít welcome you, concede and come with I

The man upon the pulpit deems fit for one last incantation
And all the love that toils within him resembles indignation
How can you stand to walk this world and flaunt your evil stance
When He above is offering you one last vital chance?

The man downstairs he turns away not defeated nor victorious
The time has come my dear", he says, "your death will be so glorious
He above has shunned you now, welcome you are no more
The man downstairs he lingers on, there beneath my floor.

If only I never heard the man who stands in the pulpit to crow
If only I didnít believe in the man that lives down there below
If only I wasnít told that I was disgusting and a freak
If only I could love myself and be strong and not so weak.

My mother reads the Bible and she tells me Jesus died
He sacrificed himself for me and there is nothing I can hide
Mother is the word for god on the lips of every child
And who shall go against the word will be deemed to grow up wild.

My father tells me heís not to blame for making me abnormal
And if only I were like the others, godly and conformal.
All these thoughts I contemplate as I shut my eyes and ears
Perhaps if I pretend to sleep I can shut out all my fears.

I drum my fingers so persistently upon my furrowed skin
If only it was made of steel so that nothing could get in
But all this is academic as a choice I must now face
To lead a shameful existence or my young life I must erase.

If only I wasnít told that I was disgusting and a freak
If only I could love myself and be strong and not so weak
My choice now is quite simple and my fate (if anyone cares)
Lies between the man in the pulpit and the man who lives downstairs.

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Originally posted: 2003-DEC-2
Latest update: 2004-APR-12
Author: B.A. Robinson

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