Friday, February 1, 2019

Childish Things

Church bells clank and clamor,
welcoming the shuffle of the devout
ascending stone chapel steps.

As a youth, I was among them,

dutiful and wide-eyed, 
walking in the light of the redeemed
at my father's side.  

The sanctuary greeted us
with the scent
of varnished pews,
leather-bound hymnals,
heavily perfumed matrons.

The bells sang
of a warring celestial realm, 
hidden from the sinner's eye, 

where white-winged cherubs 
collide with silver-tongued devils
in a storybook crusade 
for man's eternal soul.  

The price of entry:

        our untried imagination 
        laid bare upon an altar 
        gilded with the blood sacrifice 
        frightened ancestors 
        bargained to appease 
        a jealous Divine.  

The promise of paradise
quickened our step,
held our gaze upward 
to the heavenly chorus ringing
from the bell tower.  

We received it
with unquestioning assent,

heard it spoken
in parable and psalm,

understood it as children
counting the days
until Christmas,

certain of the treasures 
awaiting god-fearing 
boys and girls. 

Believing came easy 
as skinning a knee.


**First published in In Parenthesis literary journal