The church family
a prose poem
Innocence walked in one Sunday. It was a Summers day and she wore a blue dress. She stood out from the rest, with her dress of blue,
her hair of gold,
arms and legs daring to be naked.
She was young, she was happy; she was passionate, idealistic; she was welcomed with open arms and a coat to wear.
She hung the coat on a chair, she waved her hands in the air, she danced under the stares of the older members. They prayed for her, they discipled her, they got her to wear the coat. She was taught to clap in time, she was taught to tidy her hair, she was taught the Holy Trinity - Pastor, Song and Holy Bible. They discipled her, dressed her, and they married her off.
Innocence married Tradition. It was an Autumn day and she wore her coat under her wedding dress. Tradition had grown up in the family - a nice,
sensible,
steady man.
Always wore a suit and tie. She was rostered onto cooking and cleaning, and when she had time presented him with three fine, young sons.
Deeds was the oldest - a good boy, always wishing to please. Religion was next - took after his father, always up the front. Guilt was the youngest - a demanding boy, but you couldn't blame him for it. In years to come, family photos showed the family off. Innocence dwarfed by husband and sons; lost her looks, her smile, her blue dress. But hugged the coat tighter, serving her family. Innocence was needed.
Innocence was buried before her time. Old and jaded, she died. They buried her in her old, worn, precious coat.
Disappointed, disillusioned, but giving
and giving
and giving
and giving
and giving to the end.
Robbie Titchener