Skip to main content

The End Time Church

We say a hurried prayer
To cover our multitude of sins,
It was time to listen to the Preacher,
He’d bless us and say all the right things
King James’ version,
“Blessed art thou”.

Deacons like Businessmen,
They sit behind the Podium
Smack their lips,
Flex well cut suits
And perform Mathematical Miracles;
Division of congregational offertory:

Impeccably gowned and groomed,
The Choir sings;
 “Hallelujah, Hallelujah”,
With excess crescendos of Sopranos;
Congregation is inspired,
The Kingdom of God is to be desired.
Tone deaf children sing along,
Elderly citizens sing their own song,
Perfect discord,
The Choirmaster is pleased.

The pews are filled,
Saints-to-be, Saints and Ex-Saints
Still dripping from baptismal waters,
The Pastor is pleased,
Just look at the size of their pockets.

The Youth is supercharged,
Holy Ghost fired,
Divinely inspired,
Riding high on Drugs;
Long hairs, Crew cuts, and Skinheads,
Maxi, Mini, Micro skirts,
With wide eyes a Boy catches a glimpse of a lady’s thighs
He keeps staring while singing,
“All Things Bright and Beautiful”

Where is the Early Church?
This is the End Time Church,
Heads buried in a Psychedelic world,
This is the Holy Church.

The Axis of Evil grows,
Destruction in apocalyptic dimension.

The Holy Church awaits the casualties.

*****18th December 2005****

Popular posts from this blog

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Priorities of Early Birds

It is not because
Mother Hen did not see the sun rise
That she chose to
Begin the day in silence

But there are things to do,
Chicks to feed,
Fat worms, waiting, to be eaten,
Rice, from yesterday's supper,
spilled by messy children
That hasn't been swept yet;
Unwanted suitors to run from.

It is the Cock who gets excited
About mundane certainties,
Like the sun.
It will rise again, tomorrow.

Mother Hen
Can not be bothered
About the sun,
which can not be eaten,
When she knows not
If, come break of dawn,
messy children will spill rice, again.

*****June 25, 2017*****

Finding God

The inexplicable
Is proof there's a God.

This, for me,
Is where doubt began.
For if we know today
More than we did yesterday
Then, God is
a constantly contracting chamber of ignorance.

Now if it is so
And God is the Lord of gaps
Then men of religion
May be forgiven
For their unrelenting battle
Against knowledge;
The God killer.

But if God is
the beginning of wisdom
And his people perish
For lack of knowledge
And if we know today
More than we did yesterday

Then it stands to reason
That the God to believe in
Is an ever expanding explosion of knowledge.

I have no faith
In the God of gaps
For God must be Omniscient
And ignorance is not
This, for me, is where doubt ends.

*****April 22, 2017*****