the old church

the new church
is different
with its open
armed acceptance
of everyone, no
matter what the sin,
or how often
it's committed.
it almost seems
to embrace now
what jesus taught.
it's not
the same as when
you were a child.
kneeling
at high mass
on hard pews.
candles lit,
latin being mumbled
from the altar
by a man in a
golden frock.
the nuns like black
birds
on a wire in
the front row.
you miss
the stained glass,
the fear
of god's fury
for even the most
menial of sins,
the mystery of it
all.
the sliding
webbed door of
the confessional,
the smell
of old wood, of
ammonia on
the hard tiles.
the sound
the doors made
when they squeaked
open with
sunlight, or
darkness.
the wafer of life
in your mouth,
the blood of
Christ on your
lips.