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.