religion
religion.
I wanted to be a preacher, but I realized early on I did not wish to sing praises
To a far off entity who heard my cries in the deep dark night to save me
But was too busy laughing at bumbling televangelists to help me
I didn’t think such a god would be so dumb as to ask me to be very quiet in the midst of hell while granting me the sword of a fire flecked silver tongue to lick nine inch nails before they met the flesh of his only begotten son.
I didn’t think such a god would be so arrogant as to sip a diet soda while glibly watching Reagan getting shot by Hinckley, bullets passing through the skull of Kennedy
I asked myself time and time again what had happened to that once great white man in the sky who traded his progeny for a stolen Bugatti, an ivory handled handgun to wave around protesting Emmet Till’s memorial in a poverty stricken hatred soaked alcoholic little town.
Get Hermetics’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I wanted to be a preacher. Orate, pontificate, gesticulate, even gyrate.
But I quickly became afraid the only god that would hire me was likely some murder prone deranged clown who lived underground chewing on the cover of a book human skin bound.
I wanted to be a preacher as a kid, lead hymns from the pulpit
Praise a power greater than my gaping worthlessness, collect tithes in a silver basket
Buy Janis Joplin that Benz.
But I couldn’t sing on key
So I just became a poet instead
Praise be
