Poetry

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Inspired from a recent experience that broke my heart.


Filthy Face and Pink Pyjamas


I stand here in my Sunday Best,
I�ve been here years you know,.
I know my scripture and my hymns,
My duties cover many things,
My Bible has a Crest.
The song books dusted by no-name
I straighten in the rows,
And every week I show them in,
Straight backed and seated kith by kin,
All in designer clothes.

I sit here with my Sunday smile,
And bow with humble boast,
I pay my tithes, God only knows
The sacrifice I make with those,
It must be more than most.
A sermon title, �Thou Shalt Not�,
Thank God I practise well,
I read and pray and tithe and serve,
And what is more than most deserve,
I shall not go to Hell.

Who is this stinking, ragged child?
Dressed in pink pyjamas!
What filthy face is this that sleeps
Within a mother�s grasp who weeps,
And makes this place defiled?
I am the Keeper of the Rules,
My name is on the door,
�All are welcome�, oh well, almost,
We are veneration�s host,
Yet suffer not we fools.

I left here many years ago,
I AM the great I AM,
Her precious song of praise anew,
Grateful for the crumbs you threw,
Oh loathsome Sunday man.
What treasured tears are these for me,
Bright jewels for her crown,
How sweet her lilting spirit sings
To glorify the King of Kings,
And precious gifts lay down.

I left here many years ago,
I AM the great I AM,
Their filthy rags your offering,
Rejection, scorn and suffering,
Oh wretched Sunday man.
I did not find her in your wealth,
But in redemptions pain,
And gather them unto my breast
To enter into joy and rest,
And shall not pass again.

Yvonne Osborne

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