The Messiah In My Closet, Under My Bed

When I think of being forced
to wake in early morning
and go,
and sit,
and listen to fools’ rhetoric,
attacks on my naturally
skeptic mind,
guilt for my childhood,
until the shame fit,
I wonder if it is me or the perpetrator,
who is the true victim.
But truth be told
there was another mystique
being built up in my mind
by those fools around me.
And at the finality of their hypocrisy,
with tearful pleading,
hands clasped,
and no answer from god,
eternities of quietude
most graciously replied,
from the messiah in my closet,
under my bed.

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