Sunday in this Church

She said grace

To save face

He said a prayer

And put another layer

On the lies

The Preacher knew the score

He thought about a Sermon

Called the devil and his whore

But refrained and chose something

more holier than thou

Sunday in this church

Time feels a sense of guilt

Judgements are made

Blood will be spilt

Hymns are sung

Secrets are hung

Upon the high horse

Of Piety

The man in the saddle

Said he gave Noah a paddle

To sail away from his sins

Leaving room for new ones

To sweep in with the tide

Sunday in this church

Whispers are born

The godless among us

Pour their invisible scorn

The disciples depart

Placing money in a dish

The more you donate

The greater the wish

For you

That will never come true

© JMcN 2019