The Church of Hypocrisy The Greater

 

 

I walk through Leicester’s 

City streets, the place where

Evil casts its dark shadow.

I am met by gaiety and pride.

With stealth I slip its grip

And claw.

 

In door ways,huddled in rain

washed waxed sleeping bags. 

Sodden blankets, bent double:

empty cans of Tenants, a needle 

his master; the other 

extreme of life exists.

 

By any Tesco metro or 

Sainsbury’s convenience 

store: where ATMs splash

Non refundable liquid cash.

The tabernacle of poverty

Beg their crumbs in the

Luminosity of the dark.

 

With half lit fags, paper cups

in hand, well fed dogs

And wounds of war,

this scrawny crawling figure

Cuts a scrawled graffitied

Dash against the backdrop

Wall, outside yet another

Mecca fast-food shrine. 

 

Waiting for salvation.

Waiting for hope. 

Waiting for a Happy Meal

Waiting for change.

Trying to rearrange the

Jumbled pieces of 

his broken name.

 

Sitting obscure next door,

The local church. A sanctuary

Of satirical, sated fools.
A place of hounds.

Welcomed guests of

Patronage hell: The gates

Where the swarming

Locusts dwell.

 

Who hide their birthrights

like STDs. Demonic guests 

Dressed in ties and suits -

Tuille garbed garm’s:

brimming hats, black cravats

And pointed shoes.

 

Life’s poorest citizens have 

No rest from mental stress: 

Retreat in hideouts of solitude 

Only to find hypocrisy laughing 

In their faces like an idol fool:

 

A golden calf of imposters

Insensible impossibilities, 

Who bring tea and biscuits.  

Say they bring good news.

 

A forced piety and restrictive

Rules Banishes hope of  

Innocent fools who think and

Recite the church is such a

Magical beautiful muse.

A place of wonderment:

Stained glassed windows

And darkened pews.

 

Where youth has no respite

From corruptive views;

From toil and pain; no 

Plans no aims...no retreat 

From the hum and drum.

The stalwart Christians

Here they come.

 

Administering Hell

Of pray and tell to their

Foreboding master, 

All for a pious show.

To all and sundry 

The hopeless world;

The city rebels.

 

Repent! Repent! Come

Cries from the cruel.

Sneers as you’re 

Shackled in mock worship,

A superficial guise, too 

late to realise you’re the 

butt of their satirical joke.

 

These ministers of Hell, 

Puffed up with pride, 

Abide by rules of life’s 

Darker side.

 

The pride of life

aches its jaws.

Like lions seeking

The lost, disenfranchised

And down-trodden. Promising

Freedom when bound to sin..

The gentrified face of Sodom

Begins

 

Seize the poor; 

uphold the rich.

Cast your burdens 

like crowns to the floor

Relieve the stress.

Abide in mess and 

We can have utopia now.

 

But before to long the

Cracks begin to show

And hypocrisy growls its

Ugly face. Downtown in

Leicester’s meanest streets

Is not a welcome place for you

And I to meet.