Poem August 7, 1995 Issue

Back-street Christ

(speaking to the youth in your city)

Godfrey John

"No, it's not too late to walk
to where no hands, no lies abuse—
to wander openly, to talk
of hopes to free, of fears to lose.

"I am the searching back-street Christ.
Your ageless worth was never shaped
to perish in a moment's lust:
your secret beauty can't be raped.

"Listen, you're not scarred by fate:
I am your Comforter, I nurse—
I feed you, cleanse you, wipe out hate;
I strengthen, guide you, lift the curse.

"Your dignity is tall, unhurt;
your real self is unimpaired.
In the dark alleys of the heart—
I am your Saviour: yes, you're spared.

"My voice is heard. Your inner sense
is wakened ... Now in the night of sin
I rouse your hidden innocence.
You're washed; you're clean; you're
     born again."

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Disease unreal—preposterous?
August 7, 1995
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