In the Middle of the Imperfect Church

She’s a beautiful bride
in a stained brown dress,
equally likely
to curse or to bless.

She’s got a busted up heart
and too big of a head,
few friends who love her,
every night, a new bed.

She’s baffled by lovers
who leave her in rags,
her face lined with worry,
her visage a hag’s.

She’s a beautiful bride
in a dress of ripped lace,
a gun in her purse
and a keychain of mace.

We spit on her clothes,
and we forget who she is.
The Bridegroom is coming,
and this Lady is His.

We must dry clean the dress
and shine up her shoes,
array her in flowers
and end the abuse.

It’s time to tell Truth,
to cleanse her of lies.
Let’s make her lamp full
before the Bridegroom arrives.

Heather Truett
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Heather Truett

I drink Sweet Cream in my coffee. My DVR is set to record Doctor Who, Grey's Anatomy, and The Walking Dead. I have a serious chapstick addiction, a history of purple/blue/green hair styles, tattoos on my left ankle and my right foot, a whole solar system of freckles, and I may or may not spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince my kids I am a Time Lady from Gallifrey.
Heather Truett
Follow Me

Latest posts by Heather Truett (see all)

About Heather Truett

I drink Sweet Cream in my coffee. My DVR is set to record Doctor Who, Grey's Anatomy, and The Walking Dead. I have a serious chapstick addiction, a history of purple/blue/green hair styles, tattoos on my left ankle and my right foot, a whole solar system of freckles, and I may or may not spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince my kids I am a Time Lady from Gallifrey.

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