What am I doing?

This is a pretty strong poem that I wrote some time ago. Normally I write stuff that rhymes, but this time I was experimenting with another style. It didn’t work out so well, but the resulting thoughts still hold true. It was not written to offend, but rather as a reflection on how I was and where I came from. It is here, not for its poetic mastery, but because the words are still just as powerful, and just as true.

Here inside these four old walls
I listen to a preacher preach up a storm
He rants and raves and carries on
But although I agree, what am I doing?

Meanwhile outside people are starving
Homeless wander past while we blare out worship songs
Claiming that we love our saviour Jesus
But proclaiming Him only to the heavens above

People freezing without clothes to their name
But I am here all cozy warm
My bottom pampered by some plush seat
My shoes resting on luxurious carpet

What am I doing, what do I believe
That Jesus can do it all without me
Why do I sit here, why do I sing
When all that I am is a white washed tomb

Where is the truth to all I proclaim
My faith is not more than an empty gong
Fooled to consider I am secure in salvation
When my actions are directing me straight down to hell

Old Bill

Stomach full, wallet padded,
finely dressed, well accepted.
Greeting others, smiling profusely,
feeling good, doing my thing.

Pastor preaching, tells what I should do,
I am nodding, but doesn’t get through.
Service over, greet my friends,
organise supper, smile again.

Church. Club. Friends.

Continue reading “Old Bill”

A Foot From Hell

Some people like to live
under the bells
and steeples
of a church.

I want to run
a rescue shop
within a foot
from the gates
of hell.