Sonnet #78

The crowd’s mouths move in unison, as one,
Collectively, as many souls combined.
Their voices lifted in praise of the Son;
A song that, as of late, I cannot find.

Mob mentality still gives me a fright,
So chanting altogether causes chills,
And not the good kind. Upon such a sight
I feel B-movie horror, just cheap thrills.

I wish my thinking I could rewire
So I could feel that subtle sensation
Them my heart would be again on fire,
And I would have no fear of damnation.

Though I’m not sure where I’d go if I died,
As of right now, I am not terrified.

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