Poem, I guess

I wrote this today, reflecting on the faith that once delighted me, that I miss, but don't know how to reclaim it without violence to those it has historically persecuted.

On Borrowing

The Psalmist sings “Jerusalem!” And my heart rejoices For a place that never was and never will be. The thought arises from a borrowed book. Not borrowed. Taken. Wrested from bloodied hands, The hands that kept it. The book you hold lives Because they loved it And wrote its words again, again. When you “stand alone on the word of God,”

You stand on stolen land.