Church Window Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

Everything will eventually end
up broken, you said
in casual conversation,
broken by age or use, neglect,
or the disjointedness
of the times we’re living in.

School windows only a while ago,
swings in the play park, flowers uprooted
in municipal gardens, public
amenities defaced,
hijackings, muggings, home
invasions – now this:

Christ’s many colours
strewn across the floor.

All the glorious colours
of every sunrise through the imposing
glass figure, hand raised in benediction!

Shards now.

Christ’s figure
gone.

Framed now, a jagged view
of dark trees and, with each rising sun,
a pale emptiness of blue sky.

Nothing of value taken:
the vestry safe intact.

Just broken fragments of glass
left lying everywhere.

They have come in, the few faithful and concerned.
Kneeling now. Gathering up
what cannot be restored.

But could, perhaps, lovingly,
be kept in drawers of memory.