there is, round
here
the stench of lapsed
faith now
god
is not in
the building,
but the Church still
stands
everywhere
the gospels gather
dust
while the door
stands open,
for a miracle
for a breath
of feeling without
dogma’s collar on
outside
where crowds are
milling about
an official sign
in disrepair
hangs,
crookedly, not pointing
anywhere
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really liked this poem Charl. From the first line to the last. Awesome!