The Priest Poem by mark anthony st. rose

Alone, he sits solemn in his robe white
As if battered by age and self denial,
Like an ornament of the monastery he looks,
Like candle’s flames blown by the gentle winds, the prayers.
The windows witness the gleams of the heavens, the sun,
And silence echoes the accustomed noise.
Soon a child in the empty church filling it with her laughter runs,
escaping the hands of her over loving parents,
And in a jolly flight rushes at the priest's sombre side.
Tears of streams ever flows now from the priest’s eyes,
As the vow of silence solemn sudden he breaks, he cries,
As he asks the child’s heaven forgiveness before-
- he then dies.





copyright@2010 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.