Sunday morning

Every Sunday morning

Before the empty souls wonder in

The everyday man talks to God

Sitting in a dusty pew in a Iowa church

Middle of nowhere, alone with his thoughts

Sun flowing through the stain glass windows

Asking him why

Answers can’t come simple

Nor can they come for free

Does anyone listen to such a lonely man?

Preacher man told him time and time again

“They’re all f*****g peasants”

But the preacher’s words are not of his own

They’ve never been rightful words

Stolen from the mouths no more

Crying to himself as questions remain unanswered

Life goes on and on

Now follow me

Reviews

[BackintheUSSR3.0]

Reading this now, I could have done so much better on this, maybe I'll edit it.

[Megan S.]

Wow. Honestly, I don't know what to say. I think I'm misreading something, but even if I am, this is a magnificent piece full of emotion and thought provoking questions. Please never stop writing Garrisen.