I had a confession
And sought absolution
In a sanctuary of secrets—
But glass-stained serenity
Had been discontinued.
The church was altered,
Changed into a super-mall,
And the booths sold salvation
With a side of fries.
Chaos and confusion reigned
In this mass marketplace of
souls.
I couldn’t recollect my
confession
In a place without
contemplation,
Where only coupons were
redeemable
And dollars were the only
signs accepted.
We bought now and paid later
With karmic credit.
Escalators had replaced stairs
and
Heaven was advertised
As an effortless destination.
Deliverance was available
With a marginal, deductible
deposit.
Under the guise of prayer,
PA systems addressed us
In the auctioneer tongue
Of this modern-day Babel,
Where distant ceilings
Kept us reaching for assorted gods,
Reaching for our wallets—
Reversing 666 to $9.99
In the new Business Bible
Where we’d save, save, save.
