Saints are just sinners,
who do everything right.

Common Church Poem (V4)
By Michael Lee Johnson

Sitting here in this pew
splinters in my ****
I spend hours in silent prayer.
I beg Jesus for a quiet life.
Breathing here is so serene.
Sounds of vespers, so beautiful
dagger, so alone, unnoticed.
You can hear Saints
clear their eardrums
Q-Tips cleanse mine.
I hear their scandals
I review mine.

Atop the emerald earth,
a bush of crimson ablaze.
Blush of sunrise.
Bruised rouge of sunset.

Kaleidescope colors of
complex designs complete.
Ahh..but for the lingering questions.
Questions that continue with the
fresh of each day...

Rita...We call to Rita!
Our ethereal selves.
She calls, We come
Into her night of dreams
Woven within her dreams of day.
We come in Our
Saintly stance.

Rita hears.
Knows Our hearts.
And so to her,
We present ourselves.

Rita feels
the plush nuance
of Our ancient wisdom.
A melding of truths

Rita knows
She is a conduit
through which the
breath of message
and knowledge exchange.

'Sine timore'
Without timidity or fear.
Imbued deep within
her Irish blood.
Gift passed from the elders.

Yet, this Lass of yore,
stands away from the podium.
Has chosen not to grandstand,
or grasp boldness too tightly.

Goodness of power is embraced
laced with enchantment.
Able to transcend The Veil,
She walks Her path.
Our winsome
Saint of Impossible Causes.

Laughing with the sinners;
Crying with the saints.
Everybody makes me out to be something I ain't.
Expectations imposed; lofty goals set in place.
No-one ever sees a frown on my face.
Too nice to say no, too self-conscience to answer why
I always have that blank look in my eyes.
Shake it off with a smile,
Make sure no-one's concerned.
Have to bear alone the burden which I've learned.
Easy to see, but hard to tell,
My world's in a hand-basket headed for hell.
Crying with the sinners;
Crying with the saints.
I guess we're all something we ain't.

In this world the Saints are Sinners and, Black n' White.
The cops are haters, and they start the fights.

I hear their victims scream at night. Yes--it feels like one big game of chess
where I'm the pawn n-- I'm moved around; can't make sense of up or down.

Never knew this place exists. I got cuts n' bruises on my wrists.

Saints with guns Saints are Sinners with Sinning Sinners that act like nuns.''Black is White". "Yes" means "No." "Up is "Down" cause the Sherrif's got me turned around.

That's right. Turned broad upside down n' kicking me, and I'm in tears --
that's right. Turned  broad upside down n' kicking me on then ground
---Oh, God --- Oh, God --- never planned to end up here.
this place is *****, and bleeding fear

Oh, God -- Oh God, wipe away my tears.

Come, come
To the gathering of winners
The one the world sees as sinners

Come, come
To the meeting of the living
Who love our God yet keep on sinning

Come, come
To the love of our Lord
Who across seas and skies had soared

Come, come
To the love of our father
Who's undying grace will always go farther

Come, come
Ye sinners and saints
You beautiful, broken, and you with stains

Come, come
To the Lord Jesus Christ
For He will always win the fight

"Come, come,
Lord Jesus" we cry
One day, He will, one day, we'll fly

"Come, come"
Say the saints to the dead
"The banquet is soon, and the  prince shall be wed!"

Come, come
My Christ and my king
I want with you forever to sing

Come, come
And your chariots bring
For we shall be ready, we shall, my king.

Come, come
To the gathering of winners
Though we be victorious, we are still sinners

Come, come
Oh come to the feast
Where we shall eat plenty and hear the great priest.

The Lord Jesus
Ate with us sinners
And took off our rags and made us the winners.

So come, come
To the table of winners
Who through the world's eyes may still be sinners

But come, come
For in the eyes of Jesus
We are no sinners-as jewels He sees us.