Poetry

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My guilt poked me with the devil's fork,
At the back of my head, from the rear pew
And all the wrong I had done came
Searching for me that tranquil morning.

I was tied in within by haunting memories,
With words and sights that cling tightly
As blood sucking leeches to drain my soul.

My past came to me at the pew while I
Had my head curved with the saints,
It dragged me bleeding on barbed wires
And thorn bushes, through the isle.

I found myself sobbing at the altar
Before the sermon began, with squeaking
Joints and quaking lips - that wanted truth.

My eyes massaged the preacher's shoes
While he paused to study my face
And read me out like a bible verse:
"There is no condemnation in those who are in Christ Jesus"

The saints stood up with an applauding "Amen",
I fell on my knees to wail off my misery
But the preacher pulled me up with a hug.

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