The Non-Elect

In the wake of much debauchery
I wandered to where Christians go
Saints greeted me as I imagine angels would
And led me to the third row

Sitting there with the stench of sin
I listened to a man, obnoxious and round
His words brought no relief or peace
All his yelling was but a sound

Yet in desperate patience I sat still
Awaiting this God this man swore was real
But soon a closing prayer commenced
And I was sent home even less convinced

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