384. The Church

The wooden beams stretch upward and on,

Beckoning to heaven,

For God to replace what is gone,

In the hearts of the brethren.

The church pews creak and rattle bones,

Made from dead tree spirits,

As men sing in bitter undertones,

Of the sins on which each sits.

Through angelic stained glass windows,

The winds whip the prostrated dead,

As the sky casts shadows,

Upon each lowered head.

The singers pray to their God,

And the shadows fly away,

In fear of men who sing to God,

To give their sins away;

Then with the final chorused-end,

Heads rise and walk outside,

To the lake where they intend…

To drown their sins inside.

In the waters, dark and deep,

They seek to know God’s grace;

So they lie until they fall asleep,

And awake glimpsing a face.

Their reflections are only their own,

Then back to the church they go,

To walk along the pews and moan,

“There’s no God! There’s no God! We merely reap what we sow!”

K. Aldaya, 1/4/17

250. Please Forgive Me

sad-little-girl

I’m really very sorry,

That I was born this way.

I’m really, truly, sorry,

That this won’t go away.

I know it is just awful,

To have a child as me;

And you must have a chestful,…

Of disappointment, and plea….

To your God, “Oh Why? Oh Why?”….

“Was I burdened with such?”

“A child so sinful to mortify,

My holy human touch?”

Children as that: all the same;

They all have the disease!

There is no cure for its’ name,

Or its’ eyes which displease.

I know you deeply hate me,

For being born this way.

Down on my knees I could plea,

But this won’t go away.

Sorry you had to bother.

Messed up your perfect plan.

Please, won’t you forgive me father,

For being a woman?

K. Aldaya, 8/26/13

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://merryfarmer.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/sad-little-girl.jpg