On Corpus Christi

Part of my 109 Days of Poetry. A reflection on religious doubt.

Like birds they sing and rustle their trousered legs,

minds fixed on migration to the holy land while

praises drip like a leaky faucet.

The repetition means they’re twice as saved.

Amen Amen.

No one has to teach them the words;

their savior’s name is perched on their lips

from the moment they’re born, and they will squawk it loud

til the day their tongues run dry, but their throats still echo with

Jesu, Jesu.

 

I will be here until I die,

in these pine pews where hymns are battle bloody

and the martyrs sit on the wall like pigeons on a wire.

I want to shoot them down myself.

Even when I leave the marble walls,

the Latin crawls through my head on a loop,

and rings out my ears as I lay awake at night.

Dona nobis pacem.

 

I am not an atheist.

I am a sinner who does not believe.

I repent in poison and breathe

Alleluia, Alleluia

Author's Note

First time posting! Please don't be gentle; I like my poetry to be ripped apart.