Father, Son, Holy Spirit
Not kneeling in a church pew
reciting catechism rote, a last
minute plea, genie lamp wish
upon a star desire nor begging
for winning lottery numbers,
just here this day to say thank
you for continuing to bless me
in spite of my transgressions.
I confess I attended service but
twice this past year, probably
like most Catholics, Easter and
Christmas, no vow for the next,
yet still feel You and I have a
pretty good relationship of inner
dialogue without the chanting
responses in church making me
more the fraud than what I am.
I mislead, spin yarns, take false
liberties justified by some self
served poetic license. I stretch
made up memories more each
time told to hold attention of
those who have heard me tell
my stories a time or two before.
But then, You’ve heard all this
many times, me avoiding blame
by calling my lies artistic effects,
but still, in spite of my untruths,
You take care of me, so I guess
we remain on good terms. If not
I’m sure You’ll be showing me a
sign. So until next time, I remain
the same in Your name, a fake,
a phony, liar and writer of poetry.
Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Amen
About the Author
Carl “Papa” Palmer of Old Mill Road in Ridgeway, Virginia, lives in University Place, Washington. He is retired from the military and Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) enjoying life as “Papa” to his grand descendants and being a Franciscan Hospice volunteer. Carl is a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and Micro Award nominee.
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