Church

A poem from the book Loose Words in Blank Frames. Visit: www.soadioh.com

Pastor Tim says the Father will show the way.

But the way bores me to pieces.

As the sermon pushes on, heads roll to the back.

The exercise of dressing takes its toll.

Why must this drag on for so long?

I wonder if miracles exist in practical form.

If so, the A/C should work.

Chilling the air, speeding the pace of the Word.

Instead, simple words become more complex.

Nirvana rises as the floor rumbles of the sinned house.

Spirits mingle effortlessly above our heads.

Calling for relief.

Waiting for the sign.

Providing nothing but worries.

Sharing most of the imminent joy.

Wanting to ride the waves.

Cradling a dynamic harmony.

Backs arched.

Cries shouted.

Heads held high.

If they keep the Devil under their feet, blasting the Word won’t bring His joy.

Who do they think they are?

Sluggishly I gaze on.