Church Clothes

Halfway up the aisle, seated there on the end.

Rainy Sunday morning, and you know where you'll be. 

Thinking you're just another nameless face to others,

Pretending to be interested in his speech. 

And yeah, I know it sounds crazy,

But I can see through your quiet prayers.

I'm in the corner, watching you watch him.

And It's like every other Sunday, forced for expectations.

Thinking nobody sees your silent endearments grow,

Just because you're wearing church clothes. 

How can this wrong be made right?

It's a tangled mess, so out of line. 

Desperation and loneliness.

Caught in the storm clouds. 

Afterwards, you'll shake hands.

Pretend to say thanks and then goodbye.

But you don't know all that I know. 

Hiding your sins underneath your church clothes. 

What does it matter? Even the rain can't douse the fire. 

No matter what I say, I'm just preaching to the choir. 

05.21.17

©Kerri L. Stanley