Church

   Four walls topped by a cross means nothing.

The people inside are the something.

   With a composer conducting.

The music of ministry to those lost in translation.

   Unable to dechipher the book their holding.

Into a context for the life of the living.

   What fiction, are the thoughts more believing.

Unable to trust what is this feeling?

   As the choir sings angelic hymns of healing.

Mind, body, and soul stirred up from people cheering.

   Shouts of hallelujah, arms reaching for the ceiling.

As a holy ghost interacts with human beings.

    Individuals running around, falling to the ground, in the middle of the aisle.

   As fans wave to cool them down.

For the power of the burning bush overheats.

   Giving tythe in hopes of righteous return.

As the masses congregate at the pulpit.

   I sit in the last pew, wondering, if I should exit?

Or begin, the walk into favor?