Ben Barton

Kiosk Of Sins - Poem by Ben Barton

Nod in agreement, an ode to Mr Wilde
The architecture of a Church vessel, two halves neatly laid.
Norman arches, cascading in green mould
Hymn numbers on damp card, worn edges and over-thumbed
By fuming censers, grave faced boys.
Young. Those alone with their subtle fascination.
Intact - the stroke of personality I long to behold.
Never to accept the intellect
Not even the stars and the moon.

I look with wonder at the black confessionals
The kiosk damp with the musk of spoken sin
and shadowed deed.
Half-mumbled dalliances, watered-down tales.
Feeling the stillness in prayer.
And the cleansing of tap water.
I dream - of the men, those who have whispered through the worn grating
The true story of their lives.

Comments about Kiosk Of Sins by Ben Barton

  • Ernestine Northover (6/10/2006 12:50:00 PM)

    Wonderful images brought together in this write. I could imagine all this so vividly. Brilliant! . Love Ernestine XXX (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, July 11, 2005

Poem Edited: Monday, July 11, 2005

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