You Can’t Hide From God

 

There were no scripture verses on the belt,

used to whip when the booze inspired,

but didn’t matter for punishment was given,

fierce lashings just because it was Tuesday

and you were guilty of some wrong

even if nothing was obvious.

 

For words always came with acid insults

before the beatings would occur,

just to make sure there was no sense

of having any worth

so you didn’t complain about the pain.

 

When the rage was spent

by the brutal hands so inebriated and sadistic,

afterwards would come the lectures

from the other parent,

the one who went to church

where she cared for so many other kids,

had to be sure I knew

how you couldn’t hide sin from God,

even if I had not done something bad

didn’t mean I hadn’t at some other point,

thus this undeserved suffering

truly was divine justice

in the depraved and demented view

of one who thought hurt was some kind of candy.

 

It was all the lunacy called religion

mixed with wine and perversions,

was hell in the shadow of a cross,

while being told the Lord loved me

only not enough to keep me from

those regular doses

of such harmful forms in vented hate.