Set In Stone


Off the street, out of the pubs –

I traced the stained glass story of your deity.

Perched in a pew, any one will do

Therein lie the memories –

Of my youth.

No solace except in sentiment;

No solution, but I tried.

I mixed the colours, pastel, in my mind.


The angels promised heaven,

The “szents”, they sang a song

While Jesus, God, the Holy One,

Sent blessings from Anon.

I sat below, redundant,

Seeming new but still familiar

The light of day it shuffled in

And spoke in the vernacular.


“Like a Morgue” my cynic muttered

“To keep the soul preserved”

Still I’d rather the scent of churches

To any hospital ward.


I left my mind adrift

But nothing tangled,

Nothing bit –

The bait remained unused.

And so with geneflective ritual

I upped and crossed the threshold out…


Yet Solomon’s wife,

A seasoned statue –


Like this I turned that one last time,

The past in ruins, my faith collapsing,

I dared look back

And so am doomed.

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