An Afternoon in Vienna

This would be an orifice of artifice, I tell myself
As I step through the doorway of but one of this
Town's great cathedrals.  Soothed and awed
By marble likenesses of long-dead, martyred
Saints, and angels, by the slathered gilt (a joke;
God's house suffused with gilt, or is it guilt;
How could that be?), I drop my ass upon
A pew to listen to a man of cloth, who drones
In German, maybe Latin, bent on saving
Some of the decrepit souls of those who've
Come.  They're ancient.  No one young's
Appeared.  I rise when he has finished
Speaking.  Never baptized, after all, I don't
Line up for wine and wafers, choosing, instead,
To abandon this quite pleasant artifice for
Hell, which looms without.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 38 times
Written on 2022-11-16 at 01:48

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urban duck The PoetBay support member heart!
such churches should be in Africa!

arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Visiting such places in the old world could be like that in every language and thought available.