I am a stain,
and I am a saint,
I've never confessed,
And I swear I've lied,
At least a thousand times.

If you keep up with me,
You'll pray to the Devil,
And loose all your morals,
I will savor the fire He rains.

I will walk the lines,
That trace my pentagon,
Cause I'm a sinner,
Eating Christ for dinner.

If you keep up with me,
You'll pray to the Devil,
And loose all your morals,
I will savor the fire He rains.

A blight in your sight,
I will tempt you to Hell,
In all my lavish seduction,
A burning desire to do you.

Does it feel better?
When God points your compass?

If he were proven unreal.
Where would you go?
Would you burglarize?
Would you assault?

Would  you  ****?

In my younger days
Jesus was a white man
with long brown hair and a beard
He cared for children
And protested against evil
He was perfect

I think i saw jesus once
In a dream of a memory of a vision
He had calloused skin on his hands
Golden brown like illumination
He was reaching for a coke bottle
On the bottom shelf of a gas station display freezer
I think he must have been tired
Because i could even see the dark circles under his eyes
Behind the wire framed glasses he wore
When he looked up at me
He gave me a weary smile and walked away to the register
Coke in hand

In the days of hardships
I called myself agnostic
Because god never cured my sorrows
And i was never blessed with heeded prayers  
But maybe jesus got tired of being perfect
And left heaven to be someone inferior
Someone human

I can believe in that jesus

Reason is "the messenger of the realm of the body" which "fostereth the growth of all things".
So just as it says in the Gospel, that any speech good or bad of Christ is a blessing.
So to is any denial or doubt of God.
Tis but the messenger of reason only adding water to the Tree of Life.

father,
it has been over a decade
since my last confession;
in fact,
that crisp lenten day,
you in your purple,
I refused to come in,
giggling,
because I had committed nothing
worth an intermediary.

under lock and key,
anxious not to make trouble,
a natural people pleaser,
what could I child do but
laugh at sin?

today my prayers are mingled -
mangled,
a clutter of languages and deities:
my god is one but also many.
I’m not even Catholic anymore,
But for old time’s sake,
will you listen?

Lean Harvests
by Michael R. Burch

for T.M.

the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
     i hear him berate
     the fate
     of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.

Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover

the red wine stops fermenting
a young man turns to gray
the voice of truth and promise
leads one and all astray

we follow with a notion
of what may be ahead
that voice of truth and promise
has risen from the dead