Religion

The man waited for some sort of verification, some acknowledgment.
For hours, he stood pleading to the cross for a sign.

"Move me, delude me, provide an
incantation
a drill,
a soggy hope."

Anything. "Anything". Not having a sense of incorrect, there was a
change. It was all everything, and religion was a symbolic reminder of
what molded everything into a confused plasticine collective. There was
no answer.

When one would be burned at the cross&;#8230; Oh. I, burned on the
cross, citing religious differences. Oh, no, sir: I didn't choose to be
gay. I didn't want to have analogies made about my lifestyle: burning
on the cross&;#8230; Billy Gaither. Were we burning the cross or the
benevolent dispatch assigned to it, that scoundrel, that hissing idiot?
Boo, hiss. We were burning the cross, and everything with it,
everything.

He would stand here if the cross was "gone". He would wait for it to
come back.

So upon regarding the cross and concentrating on it, he felt a
presence: an omen. Nothing spiritual or nocturnal or peaceful or
perturbing. Rather a certain density of the air - a certain breeze - a
filling of the soul; an ejaculation.

Out of the putridity, and post gospel stabs at Gregorian chant, he felt
the air build walls. The cross was a crux, he was in a church. The
church of walls and sudden pews and Jews and altars. There was holy
water everywhere, poor pilgrims and monks on the floor, melting in H20
puddles and emotional messes. There were 17 priests spinning like tops,
and stacks of bibles.

In a corner, a man cried to himself about his issues.

A lady counted her blessings and yelled:
"AN ASYLUM!"

and families hung happily from puppet strings coming from the church
walls. STAINED glass&;#8230; stained with courage, hope,
expectation.

O, lord, what was the question?

What was expected of you?
Holy Ghost,
what ghastly signs can you impose?

Can you "hurrah" and do some parlor tricks? Where's my goddess?

"Oh"
He leaves and screams and goes underground.

Religion is a Pandora that, by overzealous deductions he unraveled. It
is in code. Only seven lines tell truth. A wailing wall could be the
fondest recalled lie of all.

Happy decoding
(&;#8230; you now have all the answers).