What altar never alters
The real to seem,
Or, seemingly, too real,
So wafer-thin
That one may for the first time see through sin,
A seam (or wrinkle if you will
Within the fabric of causality)
Which reels by arkfuls fishers of mere men
Back from their self-imposed reality
And sends them reeling in the tapestry
Of some unseemly dream?
Thus, our winter's abstinence
Blossomed to a spring of self-indulgence.
We stumbled in a stupor of sobriety
And, tripping over God's own piety,
We fell
Headlong into a caricature of hell.
It reads very well, I like it but i have to admit to understanding very little of both the poems that you wrote in, even after reading them several times... x
We stumbled in a stupor of sobriety
And, tripping over God's own piety,
We fell
Headlong into a caricature of hell.
- Sitaram
I can truly relate to this one. Such is my quest to search for new churches. All things for the greater glory of God, and yet, when you look back the sins you have committed getting them accomplished. Good poem.
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