What I’ve Learned of Saints

We’ve built our churches
Upon nails and locked gates.
The blood on our door posts
Comes from all the first stones we’ve thrown.
We all know that whore wouldn’t have made it
We all know Jesus was just kidding.
He would have wanted us to break every last bone.

Mean gods!

Our gods are painfully mean gods.
It’s all we seem to create.
Idols of true and holy love
Somehow clothed in so much seething hate.

We’ve all known them.
Have made them our own.
Have lived by the dim light of their cruelty.
Have suffered to please them
Only to be left by the crossroads
Hollowed and alone.

They taught me that to be Saved
I must prostrate myself to their golden throne,
And for all my sin, to them, I was to atone.

They taught me that they alone could take me to god,
Guide me through every razor blade curtain.
Purge me of every sin that made them cringe.

But I think
When Jesus told us to eat of his flesh,
I don’t think he meant for us to fill our mouths with each others’ backs.
I don’t think he meant for us to dine on one another.

Contrarily,

I wonder what he would think
If he could see us, now,
Twisting the nails in each other.
Paving the narrow path with broken bones and shattered glass,
While throwing our children into the ocean
Weighed down by the lime stones of our mistakes.

How long shall we scream at the  top of our lungs:

God hates.
God hates.
God hates.

I’m sorry.
But if this is God’s love
I’d rather not be counted among your saints.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was written and inspired while participating in this week’s Friday Phrases exercise.

Participating in the weekly Friday Phrases (#FP) event on Twitter these last few months has given me the confidence and courage to put my work out there and follow my passion for poetry. I greatly appreciate the hard work of our Friday Phrases hosts and the brilliant artistry of all #FP participants!

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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