Tuesday, June 16, 2015

poem: molehills

The chap's up in the pulpit
chiding the pews below
- saying God is watching
all we think or say or do.

Now, I'm only here because
I like to hear a hymn
sung well; and he rather spoils it
by being quite so grim.

Is it really a great matter
if I rarely say a prayer?
Or seldom read the Holy Book
and break without a care

the laws set out therein,
but only in a minor way,
as long as into graver sin
I am careful not to stray?

Should I really take on faith
that they'll harden up my heart
and lead me daily deeper
from things of light to dark?

I think he's making mountains
of the molehills I enjoy
when he says that such little things
will my eternal life destroy.

Why I read it in the paper,
I heard it on the news
the things he's calling 'evil'
are the modern 'goods.'

So why should I worry
about what he has to say?
It isn't going to save my soul
-it'll only spoil my play.

So the preacher in the pulpit
can rant on 'til the end;
I will live just as I please
and after go to heaven.

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