The Lecturer

I see into their eyes.
A roomful of pairs, pointed my direction.
The audience sits across a multi-tiered auditorium, and every face is turned toward their academic father.
I am addressing them, and they all know “me”.
But I am afraid that they know more.
That they see past the pair of brown lies that pass for my eyes.
I am afraid that they can see plainly what I have seen plainly.
To my mind they are judges, and like God they sit on their thrones and question me.
Only God has forgiven me, and these watchers cannot.
“Liar! Adulterer! Murderer of Christ!” their eyes say again, again.
“We have seen what you have witnessed in the shadowy corners of the ghetto.”
“You are unworthy of love,” they tell me, as if my memories were branded upon my skin like red scarlet letters.
This is my fear come true.
Needless to say, I cannot make eye contact.
I cannot come clean or make myself known.

So I remain a distant lecturer.
I speak at them, and not to them.
I teach them knowledge, but not wisdom or hard won realizations.
I do not impart my devil’s visions to the classroom.
I remain a distant lecturer, and this forever I will be.