Luc Leclaire

Rookie - 110 Points (July 15,1990 / Omaha)

Paris


We see the city of lost love and light.
Her white streets seep beneath the white skies,
Where centuries of prayers to Christ take flight,
Heedless of their truths or of their lies.

Warm inns and warmer kitchens let us in,
Apart from Satan's music of the night,
Enticing lost souls of youth into sin,
A labyrinth enwreathed with the fog of fright.

Cathedral bells invite the glorious dawn
Through rose windows over the golden Seine,
While by the wings of angels we are drawn;
Saints' paintings and caffeine open a vein.

Here, saints lie in sleep incorruptible,
Statues of graces ineluctable.

Submitted: Sunday, July 20, 2014

Topic of this poem: paris

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Walking from Notre Dame to Rue de Bac, I saw an ancient, dead monk lying in state in the narthex of the same church where Saint Catherine Laboure and Saint Louise de Marillac lie incorrupt.

Comments about this poem (Paris by Luc Leclaire )

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  • Gold Star - 15,231 Points Mandolyn ... (7/20/2014 6:56:00 PM)

    you did a great job writing this- it flows so well and the shade of grey-ish black it creates is all 'oooh'
    i like the reference to Christ/cathedral and how you said satans music- lol
    good stuff. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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