Confession

Cryptic words muttered through
Pursed lips
That only part to receive
His flesh and blood.
Knees bang in unison
On concrete floors
As heads bow coyly
To please His gaze.
The smell of incense is dizzying,
A makeshift breach
Into the realm above
While waiting for salvation to come.
Ascension attempted through the voices of choirs…
They seem to
Bounce off the stained glass,
Back onto the stack of
Lowered skulls.
They’re missing the best part:
A masquerade veiled by
Deep red curtains,
A slow moving dance for the chosen,
The Father and His devoted sons.
The guest list is all but permissive.
The sway of curved hips is unwelcome.
The curl of full lips is forbidden.

A good guest knows
When their hosts
Grow tired of their stay.

Forgive me, Father, for I have not sinned,
But my fists were worn down from
Banging at locked doors,
Till I noticed the knocks
Rang hollow.
My tongue grew tired of
Twisting to tales of so called grace
That left a nasty aftertaste.
My mind grew numb from
Seeking loopholes
In a tightly woven contract
Meant to save me from myself.
Does your Book resent liberation?
Is it sin to reclaim one’s own free will?
Then your words shall be banned from my pages,
My ink will flow freely
Till it breaks the dams
That cage it;
My words will be molded
By nothing but truth
Without fear
Of its constant whims.
I will shape my own world from scratch,
For only I can make my way
Through the maze that is my path,
And I relish the thought of
Its constant dead ends;
There is no fun in unswerving roads.
I will make my life my own.
But above all,
I will forgive you, Father,
For I have not sinned.