Sunday, August 9, 2015

FATHOM ME NOT A SAINT....as edited to suit 58th Poetry Slam Africa

As a Christian when I was growing up I was taught that the five components of a perfect prayer were; adoration, supplication, thanksgiving, intercession and confession.

I really never understood the meaning of adoration,
until I moved to this new town and visited the church there, 
women come in dressed to kill, 
in heels, 
in beautiful make up and short dresses, 
and as they lifted their arms high in worship 
their dresses grew shorter and the men fathomed in awe of creation in adoration, 
how great though art!

I always thought supplication was all about petition or earnest requests 
but now on TV I see it’s a new word derived from the word supply, 
Lord supply me with money, houses and cars 
whatever happened to life, health and food.

And while I am at thanksgiving and intercession having taken different meanings all together; 
it’s no longer the left hand not knoweth what the right hand doeth, 
for we swipe our debit cards in churches not afraid of exposing our pins 
as we hide our treasures in heaven where thieves cannot  reach, 
while others call from the altar, whoever has 100,000, please lift your hand, 
50,000, deacons please note that, 30,000, 20, 10, 5,
and for the rest of you with hundreds can put your change in the envelopes secretly 
as the good God sees your heart in secret.

But I understand confession; because clearly its personal, 
I want to go beyond Father forgive me for I have sinned.

But, 

Behold,
my Sire,
my bloody two sided sword-
I have truly killed,
wicked life of lies I have lived,
my Lordship,
at only 23, from the good ways I have fled.

ten, I have coveted my brother's wife,
six, into my sister's chest I have drawn a knife,
nine, my tongue mocks my peoples' way of life,
at only 23, from the good ways I have fled.

seven, I have fallen into adulterous temptations,
one, other gods I have adored not to mention,
eight, I stole my father's monies of pension,
and five, disregarded my mother's words on repudiation,
fathom me a disobedient child,
I say at only 23, from the good ways I have fled.

Barely have I touched a few street hearts with good deeds,
four, the Sabbath is just another day deadlines to beat,
not a noble word from the synagogue could I repeat,
my body; a drugs store receipt,
in this ear, out the other ear-my mother's words of defeat.
It’s a pity that at only 23, from the good ways I have fled

Again, forgive me father for I have sinned,
But what sins,
Jesus can you even name them?
And there it is I just broke number three,
I can neither keep them in order nor remember number two,
It’s such a pity lord that at only 23, form the good ways I have fled.

Ought I kneel to beseech thy throne?
to substitute the heavier yoke I have borne,
same time each morning dawn,
but it has actually turned into a chant,
a song sorrowfully but a staged dirge,
Father forgive me for I have sinned,
however,
today I shall change its tune,
Lord, fathom me a traitor of thy law,
have mercy,
for at only 23, from the good ways I have fled

The End...


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