When I Go To the Rail

When I go to the rail,
I’m not really sure why,
when I can’t even look,
my priest in the eye,
for it all seems so futile, 
to kneel and receive,
and take part in tradition,
I don’t think is for me.

My stomach churns,
I want to run,
I only stay present,
for the sake of my son.

The body, the blood,
what difference does it make?
You say You are love,
all I feel is Your hate.

Blow after blow,
if You see, if You’re there,
then why just stand by,
how can you not care?!
I feel like a joke,
that I ever believed,
when it’s clear You care not,
what happens to me.

I’m sure in Your anger,
You’ll smite me again,
for speaking my truth,
but I cannot pretend.

When faith is a tease,
the words are all stale,
the war becomes greatest,
when I go to the rail.


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