Fraud, a technically erroneous poem.
Birthed by water, twice. No, thrice. Four, at most.
In the name of the father, and of the son and the holy ghost.
Read this fable, heed this passage, and make of it what you will.
Seek me on Sabbath day, you have bowls to fill.
In unison we recite, dutifully, mindlessly, ten times.
Silent in our shared bewilderment between these lines.
Hands raised, heads low, eyes closed to show sincerity.
Seeking his blessings, and pleading for mercy.
I want to believe, let me believe, I’ll pray praise be.
Acceptance, love, forgiveness for all that makes me, me.
Covered in the dirt that is my greed, my sex, my hate.
Washed away with words of the exemplary chaste.
Again and again, we look to his imagined face.
Faithfully dressed in the same old sins, a disgrace.
Like a chorus, we chant those repenting words once more.
We remain human, forevermore.