What’s the point
The Preacher Speaks~
But never listens
Every Sunday you can hear him speak
from his pleas
the word of God’s book
he’ll teach
And come Monday
his Sundays become oblique
you alone are left on your knees
trying to draw straight lines
on his crocked floor
praying
There God!
Just let me sleep
for I can take no more
And the voices in your head
say
Take nothing from my yesterdays
nothing from tomorrow
to be borrowed
love this day
until you’re filled
leaving no evidence
of today
ever having existed
For the blood heats in your veins
and your anger
and your pain
and the voices in your head
all saying something in you
has died
But you know it’s not true
by the blood on his hands
you know something in you
was
killed
And once more
you find yourself on the floor
this time
praying for forgiveness
praying for understanding
praying for someone to listen
to hear your cry
to dry your eye
Silence
No one is coming to your rescue
Silence
There will be no sermon
this Sunday
only one new funeral
on Monday
@Anthony2023mdh30Vibes
