Hymn, Prayer and Riddle
Hymn, Prayer and Riddle spilled-ink stories
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I like to sing in empty churches; they are one of the few places
By theglycoprotein http://theglycoprotein.tu...

Hymn, Prayer and Riddle

by theglycoprotein

I like to sing in empty churches;

they are one of the few places

where I can witness

a true reflection of myself.

My voice does not lie when it sings,

not like it can when I talk - it

is an honest enough thing

not to betray me.

I’m not sure if I could ever believe

in God again,

but goddamn me if there isn’t

something

lingering in the air and the echo

of every church.

I taste it in every first gulp of air

as I open my lungs like gas canisters

and I say, “Fill me.”

It’s something like faith. Or spirit.

Or maybe I’ve been sneaking too much

communion wine in my dreams -

probably.

And the soundtrack to the dreams are echoes.

And the faceless people ask me

who it is that’s singing,

where that voice is coming from;

before I get the chance to answer

they name it angel.

Name it God.

Who am I to tell them it is only science

and physics, when they are so intent

on picking nonsense from reason.

They get into a huge debate on God

and faith and reality.

I proceed to drink myself into a stupor

by the blood of Christ.

Call me goddamned; at least my echo,

my songbird call to invisible,

will go on until it bounces back,

or breaks apart

or simply

dissipates.

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