Sacrilige

When people talk about God
I judge them
a little. It’s wrong of me, I know
to put them in a jar
with all those young medieval knights
writing sonnets because someone told them
sonnets were what knights wrote.
I picture open-jawed men
serpents sliding through tents
while they baptize one another
in muddy rivers, children
singing Jesus loves me this
I know.
You don’t know anything
neither do I, we will die and then
know less
probably

I hesitate to put this poem up. I do not intend to offend anyone, it is part of my musings in my notebook and not a full representation of how I feel. No poem ever is. Hopefully it will slip by unnoticed since it is Sunday and you all should be at church anyway.