Pretty Puppets

With folded hands I watch the old ladies
Just twenty years older than me
And wonder at the faith they have
With incantations.

The pronunciations of the Latin
Is not understood and mere verbatim
Yet as the new statue of the lady with
The baby is exposed the air becomes dreamy
To us dear mortals.

We must take comfort where we can.
Your way is no better than mine-
Or some such.



Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 509 times
Written on 2011-08-08 at 02:36

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countryfog
You make a very interesting and valid observation, and Jim expresses the truth of it better than I could. The rituals do become rote, repeated endlessly without thinking . . . but then faith, by definition, is not a cerebral thing but what the heart and spirit know, the lessons of a long life lived in the daily mystery of believing and the promise of salvation. "Your way is no better than mine" is true, yet I envy them. I just can't be them.
2011-08-08



Knowing the words would take away the mystery. Without the mystery it becomes . . . just words.

But it's nice that these elderly ladies are still pretty. That's a happy thing.
2011-08-08