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!
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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!
2022-11-16


arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Visiting such places in the old world could be like that in every language and thought available.
2022-11-16