Religion

I am not my mother's.
She belongs to hard
wooden pews, in a
remorseless chapel




where
I have no place.
Her coercion is
relentless. The
sound of her voice




is
that of a sinner,
for she claims that
we are all evil,
all damned. But if




your
very soul is lost
to brimstone, why
bother to pursue the
impossible mercy of




god?





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Thesilentraven This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 29, 2010 at 7:33 pm
A very interesting take on religion and well worded. I don't believe that all religion is like this, but you bring up good pooints in this great poem.
 
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