Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
About a mile out of town
Past the village in the mist
Sits a tiny Country Church
Not found on any list

It's for Catholic and Baptist
It's for Protestant and Jew
It's doors are always open
This church is here for you

The town is near two hundred
The Church a few years more
There are tales about this building
That are part of local lore

The church is small in stature
But large in who it serves
It's a place to go and worship
It's a place to calm your nerves

The pews are hard and narrow
Carved by hand you see
One has crumbled through the years
So in all there's thirty three

Seventeen pews on the left side
Sixteen on the right
Hand carved with love by someone
And all are painted white

At Easter and at Christmas
The Church is full as it should be
And as one of those who enter
I say, it's something you should see

The pews seem so much whiter
When the voices sing so loud
If it could be witnessed by it's builders
I know they would be proud

There are carvings in the church pews
Left by many through out time
On the second one in on the left
Is my brothers name and mine

The pews are worn in places
They've supported many souls
Who have come in here for comfort
They have come to be made whole

The one pew that is broken
Was fixed but once more broke
It was decided then to leave it
By the elders, local folk

The minister in charge then
Stood and told those who were there
"To fix what keeps on breaking"
"Wastes time, we could better share"

"Besides, look all around you"
"The pews, there's thirty three"
"To you, it should hold meaning"
"Think hard, and you will see"

"Remember, Christ our Saviour"
"Think of his age on his last day"
"Thirty three, that is the number"
"Now, think on that next time you pray"

"The Church pew that is broken"
"Can't be fixed, so let it be"
"It's as though it was intended"
"To help give strength to you and me"

The Church out in the Country
Will stand longer than me
And will witness many Christmas'
From church pews ...all thirty three.
Andrew Rueter Dec 2018
I live in a berserk moor
During a nasty dirt war
Life now the worst chore
So I enter church doors
But somehow hurt more
Once I’m alone on the floor

I sit in a pew
With nothing to do
For I’m one of the few
Not up on the news
Or part of the stew
So I sit there and lose

Should I just give in
Because I don’t fit in?
Or is that I sin?
It seems I can’t win
With my glass chin
And mask of skin

The church is a microcosm of society
And my acceptance a sign of propriety
But I feel anxiety and paranoia biting me
While everyone else gets along delightfully
I sit in the corner
Like a silent mourner
Or Christopher Dorner
An unwanted reformer

I get so nervous
During the service
Did God serve this?
Do I deserve this?
Or can I swerve this
Feeling I’m worthless?

If I could just be myself
They could probably help
But remembering pain I felt
I put my personality on the shelf
Avoiding similar welts
To the ones I’ve been dealt
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Merry Dec 2018
There are lovebirds in the church
And the eyes of God in the wood
Red-breasted and swollen
Things deteriorate as they do
Timber to rot
Love to hate
Yet they still neck
Amid the pews
Because blessed are they
Who *** in the name of the Lord
Annie Dec 2018
Now that you're here
We'ld like you to stay

In the church of wicked
Surrender, as you may

You can't feel the bliss
If you haven't had it in grey

Can't be a content worshiper
If you haven't ever disobeyed

Offering blood and words
Blaming it all on 'fate'

We gather here every night
In our own realm, outside Heaven's gate
EllieMoon Dec 2018
I’m a sinner

I loved
I lived
I ******
I kissed
I cried
I lied
I prayed
I died

Still got no demons in my mind...
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Ding **** ding.
Could you make any more?
The noise you're creating,
now my ears are sore.

You have a brass neck.
Who's pulling your strings,
and now every Sunday
a crowd turns up and sings.

So, ding **** ding.
Now, la la la
because you're a bell-end.
Yes, that's what you are!

Poetry by Kaydee.
Oh sometimes it just comes out like that.
Day Dec 2018
How could any good,
come from this broken soul of mine?
Prayers never do what they should,
but they tell me I'll be fine.
Depression feeds religion
or is that just my line?
Could this suffering be conviction
my warning from divine.
where is the line between what is right and what is wrong. between what is good and what is bad. humanity will never agree - are we alone in insanity?
junamshra Nov 2018
Across the rooftops the bells do sing.
Blessings lurk through the haphazard pews.
Here do not lie a low mound of shoes;
But a stock of praise and carolling.
Awkward rhyme scheme; controversial topic.
Next page