22 silent Sundays,
a forced timeout to think.
Slipped into darkness
and found a way to sleep.
22 lost languages,
a long-forgotten link.
Focused on their music
and found a way to speak.
22 marching mutants,
a parade of putrid stink.
Talked with a feathered donkey
and found a way to sneeze.
22 silent Sundays,
ruined with a blast.
Awakened to a sunny sky,
my body crunched on colored glass.
22 perished parishioners,
11 priests amassed.
Gathered to guard over a perp
whose demons they have yet to axe.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets from a Church Basement: The Desperate Diary of Fresco Ayers
ParanormalGod won't save your life. But this book might. So says Fresco Ayers, a scientist struggling to save his daughter while protecting the rest of us from unfathomable perils that he helped introduce.
