Not Even Jesus
Broken rosettes with tarnished gilded angels
are set above gloomy doorways.
The priest’s wordless oaths of eternal days
lengthen into infinite years beneath gothic arches.
The priest sits pale
against dark wood.
He walks ever so slowly,
but long ago forgot the way.
He would run if he could remember how.
His voice echoes against the inside of his skull
as he screams in silence.
Not even Jesus visits here.
Paul said,
August 2, 2009 at 4:28 am
That is beautifully gloomy and gothic, Mimi.