The Churches Of This World Poem by RIC BASTASA

since then the churches of the world
have gone mad
undesigned are they
to mangers and sheeps
and no light from any star
gets in
there is no window where
the moon can shine

its roof is a thick as
their self-made tenets
their walls are impenetrable
by the simplicities of our lives
their seats are reserved
for the kinds and
other majesties

there is no crib in there
for the baby to cry
and sleep

its floors in shining marbles
its pillars in gold and silver
that even God
would have second thoughts
coming.