In The House

In this house of the lord, we are all actors.
Throw back the dark curtain, lightly,
Dramatically; make your entrance right on
Sensational, soaring cue. Exit left, pursued
By humanity laid bare underneath the robes
Which conceal all manner of ills.

In this house of the lord, we sing from the
pit, hoping that sound waves will save our
Souls; we drink tea and eat cake and wish
three times for salvation of the fittest.

Will you remember me in two thousand years?
Knock knock. Who’s there? You’ve forgotten
Me already, me your greatest story yet.
How could you? We haven’t (we cry) –
we perform your play
Every Sunday and
no one ever claps.
Are we transformed?