I wrote a little poem about being at the meeting. I apologise beforehand if all the commas and full stops are in the wrong places, i'm not very good with punctuation
It's 10am, i'm bleary eyed,
I'm at the Sunday meeting.
I look around to find a seat,
but no one gives a greeting.
We sing a kingdom melody,
but not a note's in tune.
We warble that God's judgement day
will be here very soon.
We bow our heads, a prayer is said,
I'm feeling bored already.
Oh, how I wish I were in bed,
or watching films on telly.
The speaker starts the public talk,
his voice a monotone.
I watch the clock, it never moves,
and give a silent groan.
'Thy kingdom come.' My bum is numb,
I think that this is crap.
I fold my arms and close my eyes,
I'll have a little nap.
An hour passed quite peacefully,
I hope I didn't snore.
An hour of Watchtower study
is the next 'treat' that's in store.
Oh, look, there's Sister Spiritual,
she answers like a pro.
She parrots all the Watchtower speak,
just doin' what she knows.
I stare at all my brothers
and I see their eyes look dead.
There's not one independent thought
inside their empty heads.
Finally the meeting ends,
and things don't look so black.
I'm not a Watchtower robot
and i won't be coming back.
By BorgHater xx