This morning I dressed up,
Pretty and nice,
To sit on the concrete and cry.
To watch something beautiful
Die in my mind.
Like the man on the cross
That now hangs in the sky.
It's metal.
It's cold.
It's dirty and white.
A mother suspends it,
So structurally sound
With a womb with glass doors
Where salvation is found.
A light for the ages.
Some fun for all ages.
But the most Sunday goers she ever does get,
Are the ones going by towards something else in their lives.
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