A Cross Atop a House

From this steeple, I can watch you zigzag Unconditionally, 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 In vein For far too long.