Amen
Incense suffocated her.
Wooden pews rubbed raw by stained souls,
fallen to their bruised knees.
They pray to a God who does not listen
to the swollen cries of His abandoned people,
who beg for mercy.
Her prayers unheard,
her dreams curd.
She is desperate,
but perhaps not enough?
Murmured prayers and vacant stares.
She is not welcome here,
that much is clear.
They told her she was a monster,
and He was The Maker.
She became an atheist kneeling in the dirt,
sinking deeper until it began to hurt.
Lord, tell her something she wishes not to hear.
The truth may be bitter.
But,
“Lips borne of pain speak sweeter truths than tongues twisted with pleasantry.”
They know not what they do, Father.
As they profess with falsehoods that You abandoned her.
Vile poison flicks from their forked tongues.
Yet she no longer believes them.
Him with the lips borne of pain,
discolored blue from love that fell on her deaf ears.
Him with the bruised knees,
rubbed raw while He crawled relentlessly towards her.
I take her small trembling fists in my own,
uncurling scarred fingers, I let mercy flow.
Once again, I pray.
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