The Church of Tomorrow

Meet me someday
In the Church- of Tomorrow
I'll be sitting in the front row
Holding flowers, in a three-piece
With a bow tie you like so much.

And we shall that day
Swat Death as his impending hum
Echoes around the large dome
While you will point to your watch
And tell me that you are busy.

And I will, even that day
Look into your eyes and remember
The charcoal sketch I drew
With you in my mind, never having
For even one second to erase
Or re-draw the contours.

But I will cough, and you
In your pant-suit will motion to me
That your Limo is waiting and
That paupers can never turn kings.
And I will slowly rub the sweat off
My palms, on my corduroys.

And I'll slowly look down
To my bow-tie, when a gruff voice
Would announce your name
And you'd run into his arms, leave me
Staring into the nothingness.
And Jesus- with his pain-stricken face
Will look down, as I would be
He without a bow-tie.
Me with one.