On Easter Sunday
Did you hear the old man on his high-horse on Easter Sunday?
Smiting all the non-believers in a half empty church.
In his eyes, his own disguise he’s hiding from the faith demise
The rise of non-believers cutting slowly at his perch
Saying- who will be your scapegoat when your walls come crashing down?
And your pews on Easter Sunday are the emptiest in town
Did you see the congregation conformed on Easter Sunday?
Once a year, every year to make themselves feel good
A mumbled prayer, self-righteous flair securing their own Heaven’s fare
They glare at non-believers walking by, misunderstood
Saying- who will be your scapegoat when your walls come crashing down?
And your pews on Easter Sunday are the emptiest in town
Did you see the non-believers shaking hands on Easter Sunday?
On the equinox where new life blooms and Christians claim it’s theirs
It’s new life birth, an atheist first until the mind is doctrine nursed
A curse to rape the purity away with Easter prayers
So who’s gonna fill your collection trays when Humanism rules?
When the Easter long weekend is only holy for the fools
Saying- who will be your scapegoat when your walls come crashing down?
And your pews on Easter Sunday are the emptiest in town
Copyright © Herb Alyètte | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment