#agnostic - Hello Poetry

I.... The skylight sprawled out, above me. The collective faithful, in their spriggy hats, soft gloves, and Sunday bests, would assemble, before the stage. The farmer, in his cover-ups, and cover-alls, would beckon them, closer... sheep, which would chew, the cud, upon which they fed, slowly, methodically, with sharp teeth, and grateful, ******* eyes. II.... His pomade, and his tie clip, they glowed, like truth, and salvation, beneath glaring stage lights... and they all hung, rapt, upon each honeyed word as he drooled his psalms, his syllables... his yellow, insectile ***** over their upturned faces. III.... ...But what had tasted, sweet, upon their arid lips, had begun, to taste bitter, to me. The gloss, of his glossolalia, had never held, its shine. Tongue tricks, and testaments had failed, to mask, the overarching, political agenda, when I begun, to hear, the war drums... stirring, just faintly, from beneath, the rousing hymnals. IV.... I was the mouthpiece, which had gone mute. A puppet, which had slipped, its strings, and hid, in the adult pews, as the skylight, sprawled out, above me. ...But it always, was, my favorite part, of church. V..... Cumulus clouds, would stretch their soft, lazy bodies like purebred Persian cats, and drag puffy, bloated bellies, across the glass dome, overhead. Sunbeams, painted their gilded streaks, over the raised faces of the righteous, and faithful, as they opened their throats, to sing, in worship. VI.... But before the stars, and stripes, consumed, the errant clouds, and bluest skies... my eyes, my eyes, were upon You... The absentee Father, who discarded the burden, of me, so early, in life. VII.... I dragged myself, before Your altar, to be graded, in my morality... and even as I was hunted, and degraded, and You looked into the distance, with plainly apathetic eyes, I believed...

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Jan 21

Jan 21, 2026 at 8:28 AM UTC

disastrophe

Skylight

I.... The skylight sprawled out, above me. The collective faithful, in their spriggy hats, soft gloves, and Sunday bests, would assemble, before the stage. The farmer, in his cover-ups, and cover-alls, would beckon them, closer... sheep, which would chew, the cud, upon which they fed, slowly, methodically, with sharp teeth, and grateful, ******* eyes. II.... His pomade, and his tie clip, they glowed, like truth, and salvation, beneath glaring stage lights... and they all hung, rapt, upon each honeyed word as he drooled his psalms, his syllables... his yellow, insectile ***** over their upturned faces. III.... ...But what had tasted, sweet, upon their arid lips, had begun, to taste bitter, to me. The gloss, of his glossolalia, had never held, its shine. Tongue tricks, and testaments had failed, to mask, the overarching, political agenda, when I begun, to hear, the war drums... stirring, just faintly, from beneath, the rousing hymnals. IV.... I was the mouthpiece, which had gone mute. A puppet, which had slipped, its strings, and hid, in the adult pews, as the skylight, sprawled out, above me. ...But it always, was, my favorite part, of church. V..... Cumulus clouds, would stretch their soft, lazy bodies like purebred Persian cats, and drag puffy, bloated bellies, across the glass dome, overhead. Sunbeams, painted their gilded streaks, over the raised faces of the righteous, and faithful, as they opened their throats, to sing, in worship. VI.... But before the stars, and stripes, consumed, the errant clouds, and bluest skies... my eyes, my eyes, were upon You... The absentee Father, who discarded the burden, of me, so early, in life. VII.... I dragged myself, before Your altar, to be graded, in my morality... and even as I was hunted, and degraded, and You looked into the distance, with plainly apathetic eyes, I believed...