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Sep 2017
The man behind the window,
Watches the religious preachers pass,
"Oh no, not again..." he worries,
"Now what will they ask?"

He hides as if they do not know,
He ignores the world outside,
He stays silent and distant,
No, he isn't home, he denies.

The sound of his door-bell can be heard throughout his whole house,
This time it's louder than usual, like a cat yeowl to a mouse.

He stays put for one moment, then two, then three,
What he least expected was a knock now,
"Oh, please just let me be".
He was a good man, but his mind was his own,
But ****** would he be, to ignore another mans right to a speech.

Religious or solicitor, neighbor, family or friend,
He just couldn't help it, a voice was a voice to appreciate in the end.

Carefully he opened, the great, white door,
And there stood a couple, with a smile so genuine, not fake for sure.
"Hello! We are preachers of God's great word,
Would you care to listen please, Sir?"


Minutes was passed and the man listened closely,
He wasn't much of a religious follower,
He didn't understand what those words or verses mean.
Still he listened, to much of his own surprise,
He felt a sense of happiness, and no, he didn't have to lie.

He lived in great misery, alone, angry and afraid of the world,
He had grown irritable and distrusting,
His mind a constant bustling.

But to have a company, despite what he had been told,
Such religous faces, were not evil or cold.
They made him feel comforted, and to his surprise a sense of hope,
For a moment he felt his hands hold on tighter, to the end of his own rope.

When finally they finished they spoke softly,
"Sir would you be intersted, in perhaps a bible study?"
For a moment he considered it, but suddnely his thoughts came back,
They came upon him so quickly, like a startled heart-attack.

"You will have to excuse me, I must be going now..."
With that he closed the door, without another sound.
The couple confused, only turned silently and left,
While the man had slumped down against the door, a sad, tragic mess.

For you see he had felt hope, happiness, and a sense of great peace,
Whether that was from two people alone or spirtuality.
But somewhere inside him, the voices screamed out loud:
"You don't deserve God or anyone..."
He was hurt and blinded in a dark black cloud.

He sat and sobbed, for he felt it was unsafe to take anything or care,
"Who am I to anything in this world?
I don't deserve anything, not even God should want me here.
I am not worth that salvation, or a knock from anyone,
Not even Christ himself should love me or my "blood".
I have no family, friends or job of any kind,
Please, just let me be preached by the only church that is my mind."
Based on a True Story~

As someone who grew up in a religious family, I soon went my own ways when I got older, I lost and to admit, abandoned my faith and found it quiet dark on my own.

I have had a lot happen, and with mental illnesses that scream at you constantly about how unworthy you are of anything, even good hearted preachers, or loved ones seem like a threat.
Many times I have closed my own doors on people, acting as if I had it all together and I didn't need anything, more so God...
Only to find myself behind that door later, praying for a sign, a voice, something at all.

Depression has killed me and made me a very isolated and cold person at times...
And like this character in the poem, he is stuck to the only thing he knows, his mind, his "church of thoughts."

I don't know where I was going with this at first, and I am not exactly sure it even came out correctly...
But it found me now, in the middle of the night, wanting to be manifested.
Interpet it as you wish. :)
And no, this is nothing against religious ones or anything negative,
In my opinion and eyes, I hold a very deep respect and appreciation for those still in touch with a belief so strongly they want to share.
And many times, these people were the only ones who have helped me when I didn't even have to ask. :)

...
I love you all,
Religious or not. ❤

:)
V
Written by
V  25/F/CO
(25/F/CO)   
  443
   Annie
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