You Are My Priest
Is it not the beads you count
Is it not that blessing
Is it not your seated position
on the far side of the screen
It’s here I come and spill
twisting myself as rope
endlessly unknotting
a constant confessional
And through the cracks
behind the mesh
I feel your furtive eyes
licking my salacious lines
Dear reader
you are my witness
you are my priest
Is it not the way you briefly kneel
when you step beyond the booth
Is is not the cross I bore
through every line
I could not make rhyme
Is it not the lies I profess
while carving out my perfect story
is it not the way I leave, relieved
lightened in my daily load
Dear reader
you are my witness
you are my priest
Let me be yours...
(June 2019)
Martin Elder
Tue 25th Jun 2019 19:10
You raise a good point here Tom in a beautifully poetic way. I can remember some dreadful times in the confessional as a child. Not good memories I can still smell the burning candles and dead incense. An excellent poem Tom
nice one