the tableside conversation

the conversation of a family as gay couples walk down the street of rain-soaked Palm Springs -- a closeted queer (me) listens in

you say, "I don't hate those people,
and I'll let them live"
but if you see those people,
out on the streets,
sidewalk slicked with rain
bright lights
and them, those people
holding hands, loving
just as you do
you say:
"it is like a virus,"
"it is against nature,"
"how do we stop this infection?"
"if you had another Hitler to round them up,
brand them with a rainbow flag like their rainbow colored-hearts,
lock them up,
maybe that would be the only way?"
you are no better the ones who say
they hate us outright,
the ones that bloodied their hands
with innocent blood of the innocent people,
of those who wanted to love.
you say you love Him,
our Lord nailed to the cross,
yet you are the ones putting the nails
through His hands, His feet,
the spear through His merciful heart.
it bleeds
it bleeds for everyone, and especially for those
who you look at with such contempt
disgust
and sneer, "look at those people,
rainbows passing on the street."
sitting among them,
every word pierces
through my rainbow-colored heart --
my heart, connected to the rainbow hearts
of those passing
on the sidewalk slicked with rain
bright lights
of the city washed in rain;

the soldiers pierce His merciful heart,
it bleeds
it bleeds for everyone, it bleeds for our --
their -- rainbow-colored hearts
but most of all,
it bleeds for those who say:
"I do not hate those people,
and I will let them live"
for those
who claim to know Him,
love Him,
yet do not know love at all.

Author's Note

Ignore the all-lowercase thing, it's an Aesthetic(TM)