We rise and stand to the praises of hypocrisy

We sit and listen to the opening speeches

The narrow minded preaches 

We rise and stand again fumbling for the right dog eared page of the bible 
Looking for the hymns we hum in disjointed rhythms

Feel the spirit 

Feel the passion

Fill the collection plate

We have to build a church for all the Buddhist heathens that haven't heard the Gospel

We sit and listen again
Hanging our heads and closing our eyes in prayer

I only pray I don't fall asleep this time

The preacher

The reverend

The pastor

The pope

The Speaker of God's Word

The man annointed to deliver the path to God and Jesus but only if you seek salvation thru his sermons

The only thing I can do is watch the seconds ticking away on the wall clock
We've been here for twenty minutes and I wonder if it's impolite to stand up and walk out

But I'm kept in my seat as a sign of loyal friendship to friends that dig this kind of entertainment 

Conversion is on the mind
Saved is a word repeated and replicated until all meaning is ****** from it
Feeding grounds for the imaginary hole that only Christ can fill

Another glance at the clock reveals that God is real and he has chosen to slow the seconds down to a slow trickle

Acrimoniously I keep my mouth shut tightly 
Resisting the urge to laugh at a photoshopped picture of a prim and proper white woman teaching a school of Africans about God and how he provides for all

I imagine the children praying
For food to feed them and all they know
For the wars that have torn apart their families to end
For the death of diseases we found the cures for long ago

But they don't have the money for such nonsense like that 

so please fill the collection plate
We need to build a church in Fiji

I hear its a real nice place for a vacation

(The purpose of this parsimonious pursuit of perplexed passion and phony persecutions progressed prophetically by pontificated prayer and perseverance promises pompous pension plans for prolific preachers and prostitutes preparing for purgatory.)

This church is built for social and business networking
High class socialites and low end born withouts trying to buy their way into heaven thru redemption and baptism

The doors open finally and the choir of angels sing their praises as if God has tired of this gathering just as quickly as myself

Shaking sweaty hands and spreading our words of false sincerities 
We walk out feeling more like heathens and atheists than we did when we entered

Next Sunday I think I'll just stay home like usual.

Mary kissed me once
So I kissed her twice

Susan  never wanted to play
So I moved too , far away

Margaret I loved so true
All she did was make me blue

Jane was a beauty
Inside and out

But here I am today
With all my withouts

i loathe
long, sappy,
poems of love

the thrumming heart
set ablaze
by a woeful look
and predictable
exclamations
of desire...

                bore me

the
'can't live withouts'
           and
'without you i'm nothings'
make me want
to puke

i don't care about you

and
the all you've given

the trust that was tampered with?
   your fault

the constant lies
   your stupidity

the unfulfilled need
   could've been sought elsewhere

and that hole in your heart...
could've been filled by you
           a long
    time
ago.

Silence the whimpers.
There is nothing to mourn.
Some can still remember what the empty lot held 0nce.
Colors and excitement clashed with such vigor.
Someone should have caught how quickly it would go up in smoke.
Like a leaf in the Sahara.
Smothered and withered.
Every time one would pick up the remains.
More would fall away.
As if the attempt at repair only invited more distance.
Arguing is useless.
For there are new toys on the playing field.
Some that trample down others while playing the only card received.
The haze over the land has become thick with regret.
And even though the pain sparks from every corner of the wasteland.
Not a single flower has bloomed
Just years of weeds and insecticides to populate the once beautiful surroundings.
Now the barren plain whispers as if there were ears to listen.
More or less to be validated.
It's sad to see ships leave the harbor withouts sails.
And weird to think back with such wide smiles.
When the only expression left.
Is a sigh.

Do I need be reminded
that winds blow
each in their own way
as life is in all its variations
that the encounter of every day
is a new awakening
and experiences
that can't be kept at bay?

Would I be
a changed person
or tied to an old self
for whatever reason?

life doesn't take sides
neither does words it say
I am an outsider
I'll have to chart my lonely way

amidst the mist of living
the angst, the doubts
the striving,  the desiring
the withins, the withouts
all that's to be discovered
is but a vague sense of being
that wouldn't go away

questions too many there are
I'll let my heart be at rest
perchance some day
might usher in some insight
to wipe away this my dismay