The Pulpit

I look towards the pulpit
And see remnants of another time
I know he loves his Jesus,
So why can't he love mine?

So full of words and phrases
The hungry are just outside the door
I stare at empty church pews
And wonder just what for.

"It's because they're all wicked",
He says with a grin
"Funny" I think,
"He doesn't recognize his own sin."

I move up towards the altar
I smell persimmon and sage
But the fragrance is interuppted
By the tearing of a page.

I turn my head to look
and someone pushes me down
"No use aaking questions here,
We never turn around."

They all march like an army
To an uncertain fate
But I try to find my bible
Outside by the gate.

The preacher follows me out
And I try to find his eyes
But they are hidden
Beneath a heavy veil of tyranny and lies.

I know that he can't help it
I can see the fear
I reach out in sympathy
But he refuses to get near.

"No use being frightened"
He tells me as I weep
"Cleanse yourself and go back inside
With all the other sheep."

I reach up to touch my face
to see if there is mud
And was blinded by a vision
Of a wooden cross and blood.

"I think that I'll stay dirty"
I say in a broken tone
"I want to go to heaven,
But I don't want to go alone."