Church Visitor

Clandestine sin
doesn't exist!
God knows
when I'm
below His standards.

Now, with irony,
I sit amongst sinners
in a holy church
where I pray
that The Word
will excavate my sins.

I loathe large crowds,
so I pray that I,
the newcomer,
will fit in well
with these church veterans.

Are they watching me
with sympathy or with judgment?

Author's Note

I tried to broaden my vocabulary with this poem while setting the nervous tone that I felt when visiting a church.