A Cross Atop A House
From this steeple,
I can watch you zigzag
Following your own paths,
Building your own bridges,
Paving your own roads,
And I know that God is watching
From every angle.
I find sweetness in the tartness
Of life among solemn peasants
Who safeguard their own incompetence,
Produced by their own selves.
When God shouts upon deaf ears
It is somewhat frivolous,
Yet I relish time bestowed upon us
In light, restored by the effects
Of His deflection against evil.
I am rewarded the wealthiest of vantages,
The freshest drops of rain,
The cool winds on a summer's day
And the admiration of passersby
Who dote upon the base of my design.
Still, many of you fail to recognize
The cause of my existence.
Sculpted by a man
You probably do not know,
Erected by an architect
Who signed a legal document,
I am a cost for your society.
You put your change in a bucket.
This is not the house of God - You are.
This house is your ongoing struggle with recognition.
This is where you come for solace and Bingo.
This house has been both glorified and corrupted
For far too long.
Copyright © Mike Frampton | Year Posted 2010
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