Insomniac poetry. (Yes, I know I have a ways to go. And YES I know all churches aren’t bad and NO I don’t think everyone should stop going to church. This is just my personal experience, it’s my therapy, so excuse the darkness.)
From a prompt “__________ is the thing with ___________” based on Emily Dickenson’s “Hope is the thing with feathers.”
Church is the thing with friendship
That stirs my heart to praise
The One who sets my soul afire
With His mysterious ways.
The friends who gather round my table
Speak of God with me.
Yet no more in a steepled house
Will these communions be.
Those temples led by vicious wolves
Devoured my spirit, stole my trust,
Imperiled children, covered up,
Hold nothing now but my disgust.
So at my table, there I’ll be,
Breaking bread and sipping wine,
Enjoying church with confidantes,
Exalting the Divine.