On the Power of Prayer

I've started worrying about the smell,
About the way the world revolves these days,
In odd directions. It might be a phase,
But I think that we're going straight to hell,
Allowing for the tolling of the bell
You're not supposed to ask about: the blaze,
The smell of brimstone, the averted gaze
Of your parishioners, and the hard sell.

You used to be a terror, scolding me
About how grand the world is, and how vast,
How full of vanities that never last,
And now you talk about the boiling sea.
You feel I should have acted gratefully,
But I've stopped worrying about the past.