I have always

I have always sat at the back, unsure
Of the old rituals, of bread and wine
And priests softly preaching with their lure
Of community and heavenly signs.
Yet these silent mutterings disturb me
As I find myself listening to the dead
Reciting invocations with their plea
For resurrection and to live instead.
I watch them kneeling in their wooden pews
With such certainty, trying to connect,
Repeating the old words, hoping to lose
Themselves in the mysteries of their sect.
And I drawn to the baptism of their prayer,
Look for a God I know that isn’t there.


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