One last look in the mirror,
R.D. Jess
One last prayer made out of fear.
Tight grip on the way to church,
As your body remembers the hurt.
Clutch your bible tightly,
And smile just slightly.
Meaningless “how are you’s?”
While your body is starved of truth.
Find a seat in the back,
Your composer is just an act.
Uncertain of the songs they sing.
Because lie’s have a similar ring.
Pastor says “Open to the passage.”
But it’s an undelivered package.
Pray “Father help my unbelief.”
But don’t know how to find relief.
The service is over,
And you find no closer.
Everyone hangs by the coffee shop,
But distrust would rather not.
Every glance feels unwanted.
As if they were being haunted.
Your body tells you to leave,
But the spirit tells you to believe.
This is the weary Christian,
Lost in the church condition.
WEARY CHRISTIAN
Renewed Dream 