Your oaken pew defiles you,
your weekly visit a chore.
Words are only words, my friend.
Reciting them so much more.
And they will dig your grave,
and your pew will be their spade.
a thousand times you’ve prayed,
and this is what you said:
Forgive my trespasses Lord,
as I forgive others.
You shouldn’t have added that last part.
For your reward looks only toward –
That which is in your own heart.
When you came to believe that any other
was worthy of your vile and hate,
you thusly sealed your own tomb
and with it a fiery eternal fate.
Has my name scorched your tongue?
Have you blasphemed my very soul?
Did you not understand?
That your trespasses dug your hole?
I have already forgiven your sins,
and all the world too.
So now your fate rests
solely upon you.
You can not serve two masters.
Reasoning hatred is the devil in disguise.
You can not see his sheeps clothing,
for sanctimony has covered your eyes.
© 2014 John Allen Richter