Church

Church

 

Please be seated,

into the wooden bench,

grasping the written works of human vices 

in the youngest of hands. 

I gladly rose for the gospel, 

because I knew all the words, 

though I lacked the ability to conceptualize 

Who it was I was truly singing for.

Again please be seated. 

 

The wood of the bench began to age,

and so did I. 

Why my faith must be confined within

those four walls;

When all the daylight shined through 

the colored pains?

Beyond developed thought. 

 

Exposure to a world of sins

caused discomfort upon the bench. 

I sat corrupted by corruption; 

A corrupted mind.

A corrupted heart.

A corrupted soul.

 

Stained glass windows became a mind stained

with the permanent ink of questioning.

A heart stained with hatred

A heart stained with jealousy.

Broken bread became a broken soul,

Exposed to pain, 

Suffering. 

Water turned to wine 

and wine turned to liquor 

To Remember.

To Forget.

 

Still I stay seated,

as I did as a child,

while faith like the forbidden fruit, 

out of reach,

is lost within the Garden of Adolescence.

To be lost. 

To be found.

 

This poem is about: 
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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