These four wheels rise and fall with the day
Navigating through the same places, daily,
With the same faces, mainly.
People hustle on and off in droves
to attend corporate sermons in similar places
automatically filling the pews.
A revelation that depicts those who take this bus every morning.
In order to get into the spirit of the day, I lean back into my seat,
Using earbuds to block out the silent prayers.
For over an hour I stare out of the window
Transfixed by the holy sounds in my ears,
quietly singing along with the hymns in my ears,
praise to a God of which I’m always fond of meeting.
The congregation dismount to face the day,
making their way to offices close by,
en route to channel their energies into something
greater than them, collaborating on small financial miracles.
I join them for a spell,
but my true church
can only be attended after work,
in the bars and dingy dive venues
in front of stages and railings
watching in anticipation
disciples throwing out sermons
for crowds of baying parishioners
worshiping through catharsis,
sweating pouring over one another.
The only soul we have is collective
for an hour at best
as we give thanks to a God
that has saved us from being like