Sunday

Sunday

In my mind

There is a chapel

It seems to always burn

A long lost love

That lingers

Violent colors

Sharpened turns

In my heart

There is a hallway

Deep and dark

And wide

Winding

Like a needle

With no nicer place

To hide

It floods

With Holy water

Whispers

And with wine

Steeped in hymns and halos

That were never made

To shine

There’s a black eyed girl

Afraid of felt board flames

Running

To the altar

To once again

Be saved

She broke her favorite perfume

She always cuts her hair

She always lays before Him

Breathes Him in the air

He is the naked savior

Hanging round our necks

Flayed and bruised and beaten

For loving all the rest

The truth is

That He loves us

The truth is in our skin

His blood

The slaughtered solace

That soaked away our sin

Somewhere

Outside this chapel

Crumbling in the flames

He waits for us to see Him

To call Him by his name

He offers us His water

He breaks the serpents head

He teaches us the way

To rise up from the dead