House of Charades, Easter Sunday

Two by two,
all but three file in
Led
round the necks in the
footprints of their forefathers
and the convictions of
those men,
to an old tennessee brick church,
tullahoma.
inside–
a time capsule.
An uncanny, anachronistic testament to the
power,
control...
 
 
and from the back he appears:
the beginnings of a bowl cut
improperly sized suit vest,
with a garish
pink
shirt and
tie to
match the flowers
laid out
by the altar.
Features of a formerly
handsome
young
man,
now weathered in
Father Time's  
shadow.
He preaches when the music ceases-
A failed actor,
come to find.
He put on many faces for us there
that day—
a frankensteinian
amalgam of personalities,
shoddily stitched:
Condescending Schoolteacher
Wise, Stern Father
Jim Jones
Caricatured Southern Evangelist, etc.
He had this way of
baring his teeth in a  
Tortured, Joel Osteen Grin.
Moreover,
I see
why
he failed.
 
 
Then again,
he's
now
living
a mock parody of his grandest
childhood fantasy, performing for
His crowd,
His attention,
His flock.
 
 
Truly
Sickening, but you could
almost be
happy for him.