Tuesday, February 22, 2011

OLD WAYS

She told me that
She hates, hates, hates
Hated religion
All that god-stuff
And nonsense
She wrapped her religion
A loose ribbon
Of gold, glittered love
Around anorexic arms
Of forgiving forgetfulness
Lips forget the rote
Remembered method
One word, certain before
The other, the next
I heard her cry
In her sleep
Words of garbled
Warbled, penitent cries
"Why did I believe?"
"Why did you lie to me?"
And she screams of death
I see her in that dark room
Arms held before her
She held a grip
Gripped on to
The truth of death
Was what had frightened her
The fear of ever darkness
In smooth-grain pews
At a poor man's pedestal
To gods ears
Mouthing pleas of measured
Moaning beseechment
All that tipped from upturned lip
Was that they had lied

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