The Accursed
The churches are closed and it’s cold.
Outside on these holly grounds,
The tired and hungry huddle,
Become part of landscaping, pray.
They are all alone,
Each with their own story,
Telling it to God and anyone else
Not bothered by their circumstance.
Tonight I am one of them,
Shuffling for a place to sleep,
With empty pockets and stomach
Growling at God and religion.
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