The Black Cross Poem by Paul Warren

Silver and gold in a black Pellegrina cape
He moved like a bat flapping to escape
The thurible swinging as the smoke trailed out
His words floated across the congregation in a shout

The altar bedecked with cross and flowers
The priest played his part in the Church's hour
Be-smocked and bedevilled his figure stands
A leader of the church that loyalty demands

These scenes of the church are so faithfully rendered
But truth has a way of being upended
And all I can see in my mind
Is a child hanging by a door knob so very unkind.

© Paul Warren Poetry