Sunday Sin


Sunday Sin

By Rapando

Tue 25 Jun, 2019 15:01:56 EAT
1289 Views | 2 Comments | 81 Likes


Sunday Sin

Her name is Joy and her walk is coy.
She is the smile of gloomy Sunday morns
When toddlers trot to church,
Dragged from warm sheets by their moms
Who bring them to the well to drink from the word.

She is the reason our seats, once empty
Have earned warm hard butts of men
Who once preferred soft sofas at home.
Her voice praises more than the Lord:
It captures more than demons
And draws more than attention.

She is the lead singer,
The best.
The way she moves.
The way she heaves.
The way she sways.
The way she bends...
Even eyes once shut in devotion
Open wide to take in the wonder of creation.

Wives have whispered.
They say of her in hushed tones.
They call her names I can't say.
They say she is the lamb swimming in its own blood
Calling onto wolves in sheep clothes.
They say she is Jezebel,
They await for her fall from the tower she erected for herself.
Yet week after week she soars high
And so do loins of their men.

As pastor, the shepherd of my flock
I have my privileges yes,
But one has made my sermons longer.

She sits on the front row
And places her Bible on her well tended thighs
That show little
But enough to take a man into a trance from want.
When the spirit takes hold of her heart
She parts her legs, maybe to receive more.

Oh! The site!
Like a door she opens just enough for a peep
Of the white spot, barely visible
Like the light at the end of the...
Wait, like the bright light of Heaven's doors.

She has made a gymnast out of me:
My bones no longer creak
For they have been oiled by the site of her.
Like a fire gone wild I preach:
Just to get a glimpse of the door
And plan for a key.
As the shepherd,
I must eat the best of my sheep.

My flock says I preach with vigor,
Yet I don't remember half of what I say.
Who could when staring at an angel's cleavage
And drinking from the smooth skin on display?
I have given myself to her,
And this afternoon I will know her more.


My name is Joy,
They say I brought joy to a distraught woman,
The same who gave me away to the world
When it demanded sacrifice.

They say she picked me off the roadside
And nursed me at her breast
Laden with milk from her bundle of death.

Yet, when she deemed I was ripe
She sold me to the roadside
For men to suck at my breast for fun.

I found solace far away
In a sleepy village.
In a church where attendance was enough to know each face.

There, I found peace.
I found a voice.
I found a home.

Yet, the same lust followed.
Men flocked,
The pastor, the man I thought of as my safety
Stared at me longer.
Sermons became longer.
Seats filled up more,
Women sneered at me more.

The more I tried being me,
The more they wanted me.
The more I praised,
The more they preyed.
The more I sang
The more they planned.

Turning down dates was now my norm.
Evading lustful men who wouldn't let go:
Just like old times.
However much I ran
I found myself
Like a dog finds her tail.
In this case I was the bitch.

Today, my nerves dared fail,
My knees weakened,
My heart raced.
After today's sermon
I am a 'special guest' of the special man.
And his wife is out of town.

20190625 0924

By Rapando
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Sharing is Caring


  • Constant
    Indeed it was a Sunday sin
    255 wk ago
  • Millen
    Keep writing. I will be here😋
    255 wk ago

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