Joseph Smith’s Dreams

Mysteries fly like bats

Out of a cave in search

Of nightly feasts.

 

Fantasies grow out of

Dreams of visions

Of gods within.

 

Nineteenth century dis-

Content spawns a

Plethora of ideas

 

Out of rocky New England

Spiritual soil ready to

Move west

 

When traditional minds

Shout “Don’t tread

On my Congregationalism.”

 

Could have been an

Interesting novel, Joe,

But, if you insist,

 

Where are those Golden

Tablets? Presbyterians

Know the Decalogue

 

Shattered at the base

Of Mt. Sinai when

Moses got his

 

Dander up, so they,

At least, have

An excuse,

 

Or maybe not. A copy

Parked in the Ark

Went missing, too.

 

So maybe there is

Gold in that there

Lost Ark.

 

And so it is

That religions

Are born.