Rock hard silence sits in cathedra.
Mute pipes rise above the choir.
The congregation waits
afraid to ask the obvious questions
about why truth is too uncomfortable
to speak, so keep it down
except to say ain’t it a hell of a note
when reality strides boldly from the closet
wrapped in the flag of Jesus
whistling Dixie in the wrong key.
1 comment:
I haven't seen much news lately with the craziness lately on the boat, but I wonder to myself, what prompted this latest poem, which I love. And those 1st 2 photos...I love how your photog eye works.
Post a Comment