From the pulpit do we preach

From the pulpit do we preach
of a heaven we do not teach you to prepare for.

Utopia, met with scoffs.
Peace, derision.
Support, indecision.

Another day,
another–cash rules–money over–everything around me.

A fistful of dollars raised to the sky.
For a few dollars more, we’d have a few dollars more:
that’s the good, the bad, and the ugly about it.

Pastiche, mâché,
all fakery in preparation for
the real world.

The real world with no support,
no peace,
no utopia,
no you, me, or anyone for longer than a couple of bad decisions and the time, for some, to rectify at least some modest portion of them.

Fire, brimstone,
all theatrics in lieu of
true feeling.

Of love, kindness, respect for others, hope eternal, charity for all, more friends, fewer enemies.
Of relief, remorse, regret, repentance.
Of more this, more that, less this, less that, let’s tune the knobs right.

Out, in front of you,
all you will ever know
of everything.

What more can be taught
than to see more, listen more, taste, feel, experience
more, more, more–
than to say, let the world flow through you, find out who you are.
It will not always be pretty.
Your kidneys, despite your possible protestation, are not pretty.

You may not always be pretty
but you will always be you.
In the best of all possible worlds or not.