Resting spread-eagled on a plate of spinning happiness
Caught in tangled webs of song and voice
But shunned deep into a warehouse of remorseless stupidity
Devoid of life. Created simply to be a brick in the church
Of Humanity.
But those glass windows that leap up high on the walls
Those shards of red and green. They are single slots of deep shade,
Not just a pale block shaped by machine to fit the hole.
What I would give to be the top-most shard, where the eyes of
Jesus lie.
For corrupted by heaven now are the bricks. Caught in those webs
Of song and voice, but of prayer and work too. Leaping from
Paycheck to paycheck like a whipped dog bounding through rings of
Fire. Lonely now are the bricks, for whoever may visit the church will only
Look to the Windows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What an interesting poem! Your stuff stops me and makes me wonder. Try my Lazarus, and also Construction and Fossil. I'll be watching for more of your poems.