A poem I had written about non-fictional events that occurred in my hometown church.
|Sunday mornings, the man of God
preached from his pulpit of fire and
brimstone, sweat pouring from his
face, voice high risen as he jumped
up and down, trying to save souls.
While the collection plate passed
from hand to hand of his glorious
flock, music would begin playing
behind him like the organ keys hit
notes of praise for donating to the
Lord, monetary system only, so I
tossed in my quarters, an unusually
observant child, I wondered what
Our Father needed to buy in Heaven?
Perhaps the streets of gold needed
mending, Angels with broken wings
could afford the hospital bills, then
daydreaming, I watched as every
Christian, men and women, would
sing Amen, except for the Pastor's
wrinkled wife staring around with
her beady hawk eyes, telling each
child to sit or stand or hush as if her
main duties were to make sure the
heathen kids were listening to her
husband's words about Christ rising.
After she passed on to seek Eternal
Life, I wondered if her husband was
in shock, or maybe he did not shed
tears in front of others, he mourned
within the walls of his home alone.
When the dedicated members of the
Church of God discovered he wasn't
going through his sorrow without the
Treasurer making certain that she was
comforting him during his grieving,
scandalous gossip followed while
choir members lip synced hymns
recorded onto old cassette tapes.
Suddenly, the church that stood as
if overlooking the town had nobody
sharing the meaning of Bible verses.
All the cash to repave those streets
above had been stolen and vacation
became the code for stealing from
these lost sheep, fornicating before
the soil settled over his deceased wife.
Tears of betrayal stung the follower's
eyes, except wasn't they putting too
much faith into another human being.
Soon another man replaced the one
who had prayed before him but I was
already finding inconsistent teachings.
My teenage ears heard contradictions
until I no longer could believe in anything.
I crossed my fingers that the members
wouldn't worship a mere man nor try to
judge him for being a sinner, he's not God.