Thursday, June 26, 2014

The Boy Sits Alone

Rows of painful pews
Made of solid oak slabs
Shoulder blades poke
Through thin skin

A huge room with
Ceilings reaching for heaven
The crosses stare down
At shifting eyes

Whispers run rampant
Filling the air with smog
Wafers and wine
Create crumbs and stains

A river of blood red carpet
Pours from the pulpit
Paper cuts from hymnals
Tear away layers of skin

An organ screams
While handbells clash
Mouths fly open
Pouring prayers for the sinners

Men said cold showers
Would save his soul
Babies dropped in baths
Foreheads crossed in coal

The boy sits alone
Counting his fingers and toes

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