A purgatory of my own
conceit
and choice – wherefore a
Mephistopheles?
The first half of
shahada got it right:
There is no small-g god.
In the Baptist church
where I was raised,
between the end of Sunday
School
and the start of the 11 o’clock service,
the old ladies in big
hats sang the songs of old.
We would giggle and call
them slavery songs
But we listened, and
sometimes, we sang along.
They sang:
Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..
Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..
You know the storm is
passing over,
Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..
They sang in low tones
and in flat notes…
They sang:
There’ll be nooooo moooooore
weeping….
Nooooo moooooore weeping
Nooooo moooooore weeping over me…
And before I be a slave
I’ll be buried in my
grave
And I’ll go home, home to
my Lord, and I’ll be free…
They sang in high notes
and sharp tones…
They sang:
That’s alright, that’s
alright
That’s alright, that’s
alright
As long as I know I got a
seat in the kingdom,
That’s alright.
They sang without scales
They sang without any
lyrics you could read
They sang from their
hearts
They sang from their
souls
They sang words and hopes
and dreams
passed down from a dark
past.
And sometimes,
sometimes,
sometimes,
They just made shit up.
I love the last line. All of it, but especially the last line.
ReplyDeleteI love the last line. All of it, but especially the last line.
ReplyDeleteYes, the last line was certainly unexpected! I too, grew up in the Baptist church, and I can certainly account that what you are saying is true. Some of that * is made up!
ReplyDelete