"If you had one wish, what would it be?"
All too often is this question asked of me.
I have no answer, no swift, easy reply.
But I know a tale of one with such a plight:
One wish to spend, and make it right.
It's mostly false, as true tales are,
but filled with truth, for teaching hearts.
There was a man who thought himself greater than all others.
He sought the truth of his Bible, and of his Christian brothers.
The ways of purity he thought he knew,
His heart was just, his sins were few.
One night he dreamed, as he often did,
Of the angels, on his clean white bed.
One came down to speak with him. Her hair gleaming like fire.
Her skin glowed with the milky light of true holy desire.
She knew the man thought himself holy, and that he had much to learn.
For the truest knowledge evaded him, of heavenly ascension and hellish burn.
But still she took pity on him and offered her trust.
And there he spoke with his holy lust.
He greeted her and cried in her presence.
She smiled, and nodded in acquiescence.
When her musical voice was turned
The man listened scarce alarmed.
"If you had but one wish in all the world,
to where would your heart be hurled?
To a heavenly plane of unearthly beauty,
Or the hellish fires of sinful duty?"
The holy man replied with joy,
His heart leaped up; he danced like a toy
to be given this rare glimpse of divinity.
The angels eyes mirrored all eternity.
She waited for his response.
So he became still in the angelic space,
thought long and hard on this one case.
What could he wish that would bring the Lord's light
upon the Earth in all its sight.
What could he wish that would make the world pure,
and then through its light be the immortal lure.
The grace of the heavens weighed down on his plate.
Did he but realize it, flames lapped at his feet.
And then he thought he had it, a wish to hearts untie.
A wish that would make the world better, and make evil die.
"I wish that no homosexual was ever graced with birth,
that no catamite or sodomite ever walked the planet Earth."
The angel's expression remained serene.
Of all the heavens she could be queen.
"So it is this great sin you would undo.
Granted, but first, let me show something to you."
The angel reached out her light and took the parson's hand.
With glorious wings they quickly flew across a spirit-land.
There stood two doorways, amethyst and ruby.
The holy man wondered what they could be.
"These doors show your destiny,
for even now I will let you free
from the wish which you've just made."
The light in her eyes began to fade.
Fiilled with pride and religious dignity was the holy man's stance.
"I've made the right decision. Let me have my inheritance."
The angel nodded, sullen in sadness' twists.
She turned the parson toward the door of amethyst.
With a wave of her hand, the doorway became
a window of liquid water and flame.
"Then see what travesty your wish invokes
Upon the wheel of common spokes."
The world of fiery darkness which in that window appeared,
was not the one he'd hoped to see, but rather that he'd feared.
"But..... how can this be?"
He asked in baffled mystery.
"No Nazi code ever broken allowed them free entry,
and the world's a much crueler place with no Statue of Liberty.
No Eiffel Tower ever built to represent the people of a nation.
No Sistine Chapel ever painted to bring the soul's elation.
60,000,000 voices call out from the dredges of slavery...
Why is it that you shake, dear sir. Have you no bravery?"
The angel waved her hand across the portal once more.
Its liquid trembled then froze within the door.
The images that flew across its surface haunted the holy man.
He saught to avert his eyes. Sweat down from his forehead ran.
With a firm but gentle grasp, the angel turned him towards
the world that he'd created, giving him his just rewards.
"No Declaration of Independence written to make a man his own.
No Republic ever founded within the streets of Rome.
And who has ever heard good of this Democratic affair?
The Greek state lies in ruins, if ever it was there.
"No Bard of Avon defeated the sword.
No Walden's Pond ever saw word.
Much of poetry is now lost to an uncertain fate.
The poems that helped men make love out of hate.
"No David ever Goliath slew.
No state of Israel made new.
Without the traditions set forth by one Alexander,
the world is left to wonder and meander
through the darkest age it had ever known.
See now, what seeds you've sown?
No Renaissance ever birthed man's souls.
No Philosopher ever stoked the coals
of his own inner being, questioning it freely.
His wonder was found to be unseemly,
when all things were laid out so plain:
the lack of choices already set the game."
The parson stood and looked on in dread.
His heart and soul encased in lead,
he turned to the angel, who waited, eyes covered.
"Let me undo this wish, dear angel, I'll make another."
The angel held her hand aloft.
"Too late, now that your voice is soft,
No other wish can be made.
The stone is set, the piece is played."
She watched him squirm in his misery,
and was herself overcome with pity.
"You can undo this wish and return to your bed.
But tell me, what goes through your head?"
The parson looked up with some relief.
"Oh thank you, dear angel, I'll be brief:
"I swear by the heavens, I'll make up for this harm that I've done.
I wish for all those born with homosexuality to be born with none."
The angel turned away from him, her voice rising with ire.
"I cannot grant your wish, I said. Your offer has expired."
The angel turned back again, her eyes lit with blazing fire.
"And even if I could, do you think it would change desire
or make a better world than the one which you made there?"
The parson shrugged and shook his head.
He wanted nothing more than to be back on his bed.
"What makes you think that all those things that were inspired:
the art, the literature, technology, and spirit's fire,
were not all bound in that very thing, the very same device,
that you would strip from them: their "sin" in your eyes?"
"But the Bible speaks of the men of Sodom-"
"Who lost all reason and sense of wisdom
when blinded by their lust." The angel spoke with seas of flame,
trying desperately not to blame.
"And what of the laws of Leviticus? Should we not hear these as well?"
"They speak of the ritual sexual acts, darkness forbidden in Hell."
The angel sighed and knew that he
was not as spiritual as he seemed.
"Too many times has the Bible been translated, and used for power's sake.
It's hard to follow the rules there, the letters too easily shaked.
Men treat it like a game of Scrabble, and make what laws they will.
Read with your heart, not your eyes. Some are from God, and some evil."
"Did not Christ speak against the very treas-"
"No" her voice thundered with the depths of the seas.
"He never mentioned it, not once, but shook the eon,
when he healed the Beloved of the Centurion."
The angel stepped from his path, the ragged holy man,
Who could find no other argument in his plan.
Crestfallen, pride broken, his spiritual strength
Pushed him from the amethyst, a great length.
He moved with the slowness of some lost soul,
uncertain, and weary, afraid that he'd fall.
She stepped behind him once again and held her hand aloft.
The holy light caressed his back like a feather, warm and soft.
And with the gentlest nudge, she sent,
the parson, now pardoned and bent,
through the ruby portal to his own rest,
where he landed upon his chest,
in the cool, silk sheets of his white, tasseled bed.
He awoke in the darkness and groped at his head.
Looked up in the silent darkness, felt no calm.
He looked at his watch, then lifted his palm.
He stood from the bed and then fed his fish,
Wondering at all that had come from one wish.
