My Childhood Church Experience

Poem By Richard Bland

All the good people file into their places
Smiling on the outside
While their veneers stretch thin over their secrets
And then, satisfied with the deception
They smile themselves to sleep

They only go to the place in their minds
Where the facade is
The chosen reality
And even though they know that the other place exists
They believe that it doesn’t

Glances betray intentions as egos struggle for merit
Fear of appearing less than something controls the air
Imprisoned in avoiding self-loathing
They require me as a substitute
But denial prohibits their gratitude

See you next week

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