Sunday Soldiers

I see demons on the ceilings- They crawl down the steps and up the pew to preach- I see sheep in the pasture- and if he tells them to jump they will fly from the rock and kiss the ocean- The paint on this white castle is chipping; people are leaving; the walls are bleeding; the frame is screaming; the holy water is murky- I see corruption in this everlasting system- Tempests are the people in the storm of the mind. The Sunday christian- Even the blue hairs who sit front row with one ear forward- It's all the same- Purity for you; purity for me; but there's no purity that i can see, All these transformations- Side conversations- Long skirts and pint up hair- if you don't abide you better beware, because i- am- sin-eater- and i am praying for absolution. I am a denizen in this holy realm of dissipating life, my dissipating faith is too revelatory to ignore; to reconcile. I see his shadow in unlikely places. So watch for false prophets they come in sheep's clothing but inward they are ferocious.