Subscription Poem by Brendan M. Rumney

I never realized this life as a Christian required a monthly subscription, dosing on an indoctrinated prescription, hoping false hopes on a 'me first' kind of incription. I mean it's this very flesh that has this 'me first' description, so when I sit in the walls of the church, why do I still feel this 'me first' confliction? I mean if this Jesus we worship did feed the multitude with bread and fish, why is it that we starve souls bearing false lips? If we really did witness the gospel, what lost soul would have lost hope? But reality is we proclaim manna sweet while they choke on a bar of soap. Hell is not their place to go, Hell is the place they know. Hell, we are the devil tempting their very soul. I'm willing to bet this Jesus you declare to serve is not the Jesus that walked this Earth nor deserve. We proclaim bible, obedient discipline, fighting the lord's battle, but we are nothing more than a 'get rich quick' channel on cable, saying this is forever, when your works say never. This is my confliction, my dire straits, my conviction. Why does the church, the place we come to worship you, Have everything but you?