By Taidi
Congregational rituals begin,
Hands lifted skyward,
They’d prefer “heavenward”,
Hearts repentant;
But it’s the pockets,
Oh those dips on sides, fronts and backs,
They know true penance,
It is they that are contrite.
Preach preacher! Preach!
Make altar of that Broadway stage,
Wipe off that trickle that attempts to expose your guise,
Looooord come down!……
And be part of this well crafted, well, craft,
Yes, preacher, Preach!
Tell them of hell’s fire,
Of sulphur and brimstone,
Is your god so inconsequential?
Please preacher, preach,
Louder! Louder! Louder!
Faster! Faster! Faster!
Harder! Harder! Harder!
And amidst sacred spasms
They came and they came,
Then in such humble fashion;
Into their dips they reached,
And in such piety they offer,
In such polished sanctimony you receive.
Ecclesiastical aphrodisia you have satiated,
It is only deserved.
Tell me oh holy teacher,
Could a chapel so righteousesque,
So bloated with garish semblance,
So full of yearn for truth,
Could it lack a god?
Could it be spiritual vacuum?
Your words show disgust at my daresay,
But it is your actions I listen to.
So preach preacher, preach.
For if you dare stop,
Hell’s fury shall be no more.
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About Taidi
Taidi is an ardent blogger who loves all things poetry. for more of her poems, visit her site
