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