The Church


It's a dark place I go on Sunday nights

We call it The Church but only when the time is right

Everyone dresses in black and in the flesh

Some with leather boots and others with silk capes


The lights are always dim

With a hint of somber grins

The music throughout is loud

And so is the melancholy crowd


Rings of all sorts proudly hail

They parade on noses, tongues, nipples, and in ale

Makeup ranges from pale white to black and red

And silver chains adorn the mesh


Dancing is nothing short of bliss

Where everyone surrenders to the natural flow of hiss

Some move fast and jump quick

While others take delight in hovering in the mist


A bunch of freaks the norm seems to see

Bad seeds born of earth and sea

We are certainly different and distinct

And we like to think of ourselves as we


We care for life, dirt, and speed

We do nothing wrong except for being free

We celebrate diversity and rejoice in deeds

And avoid settling in old patterns of creed


We are sons and daughters

Who play at night to recover

We are also students and part of the workforce

With our own ideals and love for our mothers


We accept and respect the norm

But freedom we ask in the name of the Lord

Let us be and judge us not

We are like you, only unique and sometimes quite bold


Gabriel Alfonso

July 20, 2000