pamphlet affixed to a bus shelter wall;
below twilight drunks piss on the sidewalk
with all the other animals in the cold dust
and recycled sentiment of this city.
Where Are You
Going To Spend
Weekly sermon tacked up
by an anonymous preacher. Or disciple.
Reality, rhetoric, cut-and-paste spirituality
sprinkled amongst Biblical evidence.
‘As it is written.’
Cowardice under nightfall. Honesty by dawn.
A believer more than I.
‘For by grace are ye saved through faith;
and that not of yourselves.’
How long have I been sleeping,
dreaming I could
make it on my own?
‘It’s only by faith in the only savior.’
Have I have lost my place?
God: a reason or an excuse. I have fallen short
of his glory. We all have, apparently; morally,
truthfully, decently, cruelly.
‘Look at the world today! Crumbling!’
Headlines scream even louder each day.
I know. I know
I do not meet God’s requirements; owning
my sins as much as I care to.
‘To be saved, you must admit
that you are a sinner.’
My pride prevents me from opening up,
from believing in eternity, my trajectory,
or most efficient route there.
‘Dear Soul, if you were to die right now,
do you know whether you would go
to heaven or to hell.’
© 2019 j.g. lewis
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