Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Hidden Treasures Comments

Rating: 4.5

I recall the sweet remnant of a dream:
The ruins of a church on an ancient street.
Inside its weeping walls were worn and grey
And old stone statues seemed to grimly stare.
...
Read full text

DM W
COMMENTS
Dr Antony Theodore 20 March 2020

Although it columns were cold and broken And where we stood shadows seemed to lengthen, It was filled with a gentle, mystic light: Healing our hearts with its radiance white. church, holiness, prayer, mystical light and fineness and goodness. love this poem. tony

0 0 Reply
Dominic Windram 20 March 2020

Thanks Tony...I really appreciate your perceptive comments.

0 0
Lukas 05 December 2017

What a great combination of poem and picture. How can religion articulate herself in this rampant, modern age? The poet shows that one way can be poetry.

0 0 Reply
Dominic Windram 20 March 2020

Thanks Lukas...your comments are always appreciated.

0 0
Close
Error Success