priest mouths flowery platitudes, out of key organ a counter point.
man nailed to the tree seemed to weep, was it for this my sacrifice?
Incensed by the choking incense, mummery of the ritual, its meaning lost;
longing to be free, out in gods clean air, priest mumbled on, religion by rote,
his seeming God given right
blind to the inattention of his congregation, he accelerated to a fast conclusion;
longing to forget the flummery and lose himself, in an orgy habitual prayer and whiskey fumes dreaming of heaven.
absolved of sin for yet another week, trailing home at snails pace wondering,
not for the first time, was my time wholly wasted? yet paradoxically feeling a little less sinful and more holy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem