- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Misericorde
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Ache
seemed the point,
trembled in whispers -
heard, but never
understood.
Standing those hours
unsupported,
swaying back
and forth,
fourth from the end
and leaning, leaning
for the aisle.
Distress
interrupted dreams
of sky blue Sundays,
stained rays
and colored verse.
Neon prayer
dulled in the strain
as pained chants,
reverent reverberation
echoed on hardwood,
the merciful pews
bemoaning penance.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 18 years agoAn intriguing poem. I think the second half of the poem is a lot stronger than the first, esp with its imagery. I liked the image of 'sky blue Sundays' the most.
