The Litany of the Saints

The pew is hard
To sit in, and I feel my
Fingers trembling in the cold.

And the words of St. Paul
Echo through the steely microphone
“Just as through one person sin entered
The world, and through sin, death, and
Thus death came to all,
Inasmuch as all sinned.”

Holy Mary, pray for us.

Shadows inhabit every
Nook and statue, cloaking
The sins that lie inside each
Confessional.

I blow into my cupped hands
To try and warm my soul.
The organ drones and pulls
At the music, playing dirges
With happy lyrics.

Saint Michael, pray for us.

Marble is swirling above
Children in white,
Who are content to be
Ignorant. I wish I could be
Too.

Saint Peter, pray for us.

I want to run away from these
Frozen altars, but there is nowhere
To go. For God is still
Present in a terrible way.
And I love this building still,
For my heart cannot overthrow
Its comfort, its tradition.

All you holy innocents, pray for us.

But my head is enraged
At this void of the sacred.
Come out, tabernacle, and face me.

Shepherds of sin
Machines on autopilot.
“Not all, not all.”
A good tree does not bear
Rotten fruit.

All you holy bishops and confessors, pray for us.

I choke on incense.
All this at the expense
Of children, purest of the
Angels.

Accept this humble offering, Lord,
For I am torn.

All you holy men and women, pray for us.

My judgment hops about the
Sanctuary. Who here is holy?
Aspersions have been cast
Before the swine.

“Not all.
Not all.”
I know.

Holy men are here, but not there,
For they hide behind their masks
Of routine and straight lace.

Do not pray for me.
I will pray for you.

Lord Have mercy.
Christ have mercy.
Lord have mercy.