The Black Cross
Silver and gold in a black Pellegrina cape
He moved like a bat flapping to escape
The thurible swinging as the smoke trailed out
His words floated across the congregation in a shout
The altar bedecked with cross and flowers
The priest played his part in the Church’s hour
Be-smocked and bedevilled his figure stands
A leader of the church that loyalty demands
These scenes of the church are so faithfully rendered
But truth has a way of being upended
And all I can see in my mind
Is a child hanging by a door knob so very unkind.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
