Their leader lifts his hand. They rise as one
Like soldiers tensed before a battlefield.
Holding their hymnals close, they hear again
The organ’s call. Soon they join in, made bold
By stanzas asking men to bathe in blood.
They stand together in their crimson gowns,
Bright books in hand, their faces stiff as wood,
In ranks like God’s as yet uncaptured pawns.

I sit inside this house of faith, head bowed,
A child again, confused by reverence.
I was baptized to make my parents proud
But find no comfort in God’s violence.
I crouch in silence, wishing I could lie
And join these warriors, unafraid to die.