Would you believe—Christ was at Mass today!
Mystery happening between felt hats.
Alabaster breastless virgins and cretinous christs
To gape at all around … for piety.
The stench of unwashed fat-ones,
Smoky, tawdry cloths,
Breathless moanings and coughs. Itself sick,
The microphone fed large objects
Up the arches, booming down inimitable
mumblings.
And pre-puberal brats
Nicely groomed for their histrionic performance:
Water, wine, bells. Hell—not yet!
Somebody’s fainted. I could
Pray better in the wilderness
Like Him. Would you believe—I love Him.
I can tell you do love Him. Otherwise, you'd be afraid He'd strike you dead if you posted this poem.
It is my observation, that He's chuckling at this one and saying "Philip, glad you came to church, but you do pray a lot better when it's just you and ME."
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It is my observation, that He's chuckling at this one and saying "Philip, glad you came to church, but you do pray a lot better when it's just you and ME."
Kathy