Conversion Poem by Joel Lees

If I am to be converted,
I will convert into oxygen, carbon, water and soil.
Still be alive in the trees above when the remnants of my soul are scarcely found.
Still hear my lungs breathe in and out with every wind chime, ghost divine, made it in time, in humankind.

You cannot chip away at this loving body,
Make me take any less of your space…my space.
Try to strip away each chakra and color.
Make me black and white to fit your reality.

And energy, energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only transformed.
Transform into the biggest electrical storm
Your electrical shocks have nothing on me.

You may singe this vessel of a body.
Consider it a victory for the pious and loss for none.
Claim this temple of a body as yours
Yet fail to find truth in your verisimilitude.

But I am not a temple.
I am the god given heavens.
Watch me conduct clouds into lightning
And give everyone their favorite cotton candy sky.

You may pride yourself on being humane.
Mask trauma as summer camp.

But I don't want your Mike and Ikes.
Don't want your fake pence.

Because I've seen what love looks like.
On the streets of New York, on my tumblr dashboard, in the eyes of two darling children.

But if I am converted into a hollow shell of a body,
I will always remember these words:
That Love is love is love is love is love.
And I will speak those words until they ring true.
Let them convert into every prism color.
Let them be the strongest wind in the rainbow flag.
Let those sound waves bounce until a young boy hears them.
Until they echo back into his childhood and grasp his hand,
And tell him that those words ring true for him too.