Sunday
A dark cloud appeared
on the horizon,
Its shadow blotted out
the summer sun.
A rumble of thunder
Echoed throughout the meadow
Bringing fear to the
Sunday sinners.
He stood tall in the pulpit
Righteous, eyes rolling,
spitting fire,
and brimstone to
His quivering flock.
The young huddled close by.
Mothers quietly listened.
Passively accepting
The hellish fire
That awaited them.
The preacher,
Eyes blazing.
Cast out demons and
Spoke in tongues.
Sinners forgiven,
The thunderstorm abated.
Then, purged of all anger,
The ram jumped off
His granite
Pulpit
And peace to the meadow
was restored
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