Sunday, November 25, 2012

The Church of Unhewn Stone

Another Sunday and I will not go
In bondage be their broken link
In a broken chain
Bringing the scourge upon the earth.

My heroes are he who made the iron axe to float
And he who called two she bears from the woods
And he who sang of lovers' breasts
And she who drove a nail through enemy temples
And he who turned the other cheek
Because he could turn the water into wine
Against which they preach
While filling their mouths with the flesh of beasts.

Inactive, yes.
Excommunicate, not yet.
Either way to their telestial kingdom I head.
I have been there before
And peed on myself in fear
Walking its gray dust an innocent.
At least my friend the raven's there.

But today while there's breath in my chest
I fear not to kneel on the frost-covered ground
At my church of unhewn stone
A chorus of heavenly geese overhead.