cheap grace it is called when past becomes

stamped on today: again the same motions

of bowing, repentance and an audience

wowed,

and the coffers are heavy with illicit activity,

boogeyman wishing to say something,

but are bound and tired

to the silver hope that god’s grace is infinite,

which it is,

though the boy, girl, the children watching the play

could all see

why the mask often drops, is taken up again

the wearer looks furtively

when it appears no one is watching,

sighs, enters pandora’s box and dances with chaos,

so much more wondrous it is

this true feeling of euphoria when the pleasure

last.

the shadows loom, elongate, the past reminds

then the player again bows, weeps

for heaven’s grace, it is infinite, you promised

snarled the being towards the stars: you cannot lie.

and of course god could look down,

as he always does, never lifting or arguing,

while the crowd makes their judgement,

children giggled at the strange vast discrepancy

on what is, what is told.

that – said god, is the truth.