An old church stands with a spired steeple
Amidst the townspeople at Fox and Main
Where the hypocrites pray for sinful souls
And clergy holds sermons that entertain.
Within this sanctuary lined with pews
And opalescent glass and glittering gold
Odoriferous breaths of morning booze
Betray inebriants among the fold.
The Sunday sermon lectures temperance
Its message they heard many times before
The spoken words make no difference
Because people don’t heed them anymore.
The pimps and sots, sinners all congregate
Buying forgiveness while passing the plate.
A contest entry
- Prewrite contest by Sadistic klown girl.
1000 points, ended June 2, 155 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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This seems to be a so true write. I have become one of those "sinners" it would seem because I don't think God cares one little iota about us so I am now Wiccan and revere mother earth. Thank you for this write it was well done.
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