Sitting in the pew, 'hush hush'
the holy suit at the pulpit speaks
Disclosed to him, the voice of God
We writhe on our chilly seats
'OH! The LORD!' sweating, flushed
I observe beads of eulogy glisten
upon his fervent brow
Oh, the burden of piety, 'listen!'
For God-fearing, knee-bending
uprighteous-delightless folk
I slap my lethargy silly
they roar at a mediocre joke
Reverence is a sea of bobbing heads
Spirit, a blister bloating with politesse,
We gather in your Holy name
How dare we otherwise suggest!
A vagabond enters our rheumatic midst,
For he's heard the Name before,
He's exhausted every possible route
Opened all but one small door
A humble door with a disfigured knob that welcomes all seekers, but rather
We hide it behind an elegant door, behind yet another, and another
Hallways are full, chambers sealed by
Curtains that separate sinner and slaughter.
The vagaond approaches a barren altar
Hoping to find a drop of cool water
Licking his cracked lips, blinking
Sinking in the quicksand of neglect
Beneath his blistered, bleeding feet
While we are too busy feigning perfect
He croaks his trembling request
In a peculiar dialect that was once our own
Words that bleed like the dying beast
With a dying breath he breathes alone
(another to be continued...)
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