john chizoba vincent
Church In My Country - Poem by john chizoba vincent
'You shall receive a Miracle phone call'
'I see a boy in that womb smiling to me'
'Tomorrow shall be great in Your life'
'Give and it shall be giving unto You'
'And God said to me: you all shall prosper'
'Build the House of God not my house'
'Give your tithes and Offering in the house of God'
'Oh! I see heaven opened and the son of God
Descending from above and He pours out
His Glorious spirit upon the congregations and he said 'It is well with all of YOU'
We hear that every day and yet, no change has come.
We're a biological weapon.
We've been exposed to your love and brutality,
A weapon that was made to protect us but only hurts us in the process of exploring our capabilities.
Salty liquids fill our eyes every time we take a walk down memory lane, remembering how sweet we were.
we were not aware of the expiry date of so many sermon and manners they handed over to us.
They sneezed us like we were limes,
why were we suprised when our churches turned sour?
But what good will that do when you reside in a church that loves you dearly and though your mind hates to love it?
We fake smiles and force laughter, we still say 'we are okay' even when we are not.
Oh! cruel church, how many papers must we spoil with ink cursing you?
You have deviated from the doctrine of love and kindness but now all your love and cares are now
Broken beyond repair,
we will take our revenge on the pages of paper and spill furious lines.
His soothing arms will keep us captive
Until the day we decide to leave then it hurt again to leave a place where you once called home.
If we do stay and church decides to hurt, would we recover from the burns, or would our heart learn to love again?
No matter how far we try to run from this mad home, she always seems to be there when she's not needed, whispering in our ears that sanity kills.
A business for all who are unemployed in the society.
Church had mare us, kill us and rendered us useless,
Churches in our land exploit us even when we have nothing left in our pocket to give out but when we need help from the same place we are refused, WHY?
Comments about Church In My Country by john chizoba vincent
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe