Patryk Szczepaniak

United States

Holy Sangria!

July 14, 2019

She’s the victim of ten commandments,   
A prisoner to wheat platelets,
Spends her days cleaning crucifix ashes,
Wondering what the point of it all is.
Gets drunk off Holy Sangria,
High on frankincense and myrrh,
For she knows God rested on the seventh day,
But what did He do on the eighth?

Sitting atop cedar pews, she wonders,

“When you pray is it just for show?
Mutter spells and hope no one will know?
When you confess, is it all of your sins?
Or just the ones that won’t turn you in?
How can you stand there praying to Him,
Defending a priest living a life of sin? 
How can you proclaim the words of your God,
Hiding behind a celestial facade?
Lord never warned me about all this,
All the hate His own fans would give. 
If You won’t give them eternal damnation,
At least allow me some salvation.
    Give me my salvation!”

She walks 14 stations every day,
Feeds 5000 with barley loaves, 
And after, she goes apple-picking with a green snake 
And an angel that she loathes. 
Walks atop the pool in her backyard,
Consecrates some cranberry juice,
For she’s aware the Devil tempted Eve,
But what if she just wanted fruit?

Holy water on her head, she ponders,

“When you pray is it just pretend?
Recite curses till the mass’ end?
When you confess is it just a play?
Whispered so God won’t hear what you say?
How can you pray and not blink an eye
At your own followers’ desperate cry?
How can you feed us the bread and the wine
And not feel guilty when you cover up your crime?
Lord never warned me about all this,
All the hate His own fans would give. 
If You won’t give them eternal damnation,
At least allow me some salvation.
    Give me my salvation!”

Spends nights worrying her faith is waning,
She kneels down on mattress springs, just waiting.
For a whisper, note, hum from above,
She prays and she prays until she’s greeted with a nod
By a black woman (dressed in gold leaf) named God.
Then her heart is full of faith again-
She knows her church insists on praying
To those who prey on the dismaying,
But she’ll just pray to her angelic lover in the sky,
The one who birthed her in her mind’s eye.
 

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