Little White Church 2


A little white church by the coast
Seemingly with brined walls
Tasting of sea-salt
The type that cassocked men
Devour tequilas with, licking the wall cover
To counter the bitter taste
Of faith going south

And those empty naves
And pews were now filled with night owls
And caterpillars, even the scavenging crows
And the faith that grew
Like an empowered fungus, was now shrinking
In to a single cell of yeast

And that diorama
Of a vast universe of one moon
And many stars – the catholic faith
Was now a meaningless hall
A naked sky of abject darkness
Yet in those same cracked walls
And misplaced tiles, lies the echo of prayer
Of a single soul, the music of his whispers
And the harmony of hail marys
Jumpstarting the soul
With a vivacious strain of hope

And hope they say
Lives in broken bread and spilled wine
Nourishes with a bite and inebriates with a sip
When that intruder inside
That smallest of chambers
Sneaks out and enlivens
Bones and muscles

And they say
That is a small edition
Of resurrection…..


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