So this Preacher man he comes and tells me
I must accept to be saved and not perish
Faintly in my ear, him I hear
The rumble in the ‘Middle Belt’ out-shout him
Drown his doom-saying and cries of perdition
The rumble is not of guns or bombs
Rather, ‘tis the echoes and anguish of worms
Preacher drones unrelenting
Tune my ear deaf unconscious, ‘unrepenting’
My sunken eyes ever trail his gesticulate hands
Searching a saviour sign
His hands may as well hold naught
A black book; a wooden cross; a bell
A bell too loud
That I hate him more
I say, “Preacher man, go!”
But mine mouth do not the words form
The rumble is ever present now
The ‘Middle Belt’ aflames
“Your Saviour cannot save the hungry!”
It comes out a whoosh
Like trapped air in a burning house, released
Then I pass out
'Unsaved'
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