We prostrate ourselves

before the altar, or down on our knees, head bowed,

penitent, hands clasped tight together, pleading perhaps,

at this shrine to a white deity hanging from a cross,

One we’ve created to justify, rationalize a rigid morality

of fear, a fear born of misunderstanding, of contrariety, of that

which is different from us, that which we cannot accept,

will not accept, fearing differences, fearing the changes

it might create awakening, and we raise our hands in praise,

Hallelujah, and profess our love, confess our sins

lest we fall prey to a lurking Satan’s wokefulness,

grieve our sinful nature, burying it, lost in God’s love,

and have our ticket punched to heaven’s pearly gates,

our New America Standard, a new King James, open

to the verses condemning this wicked world or the ones

lifting us up as better than, following those commandments,

setting us apart from the sinners around us, so bold

as to live these sins publicly, unforgivable,

glad that we are not like them, heaven-bound,

washed in the blood of the lamb, saved, sanctified,

and dutifully condemning sin and sinners alike to hell,

our good deeds, as our tithes, counted up, tallied,

our accounts growing, and the pockets, too,

of a religious right, fawning over them who would

establish a world religion, unmoving, these crusaders of ages

past returning, reforming, conforming, a new morality forced,

rigid and right, unreformed, and afraid of missing out,

left behind on the judgement day, reading the signs,

and fearing the end, the judgement, unprepared and afraid.

 

And their prayers fall not on deaf ears or blinded eyes,

but are heard through the tears of God

weeping for humanity,

                                       a Father’s tears for his children.