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)

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Comments

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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

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M.C. Newberry

Tue 25th Jun 2019 15:12

I see the adroitness of any religion which is politically savvy enough
to provide a "cop out" for sins committed via the offered facility of "confessing" them to one of the religion's employees. A sure
way to keep members - and an attraction perhaps for the watching
waverers in society towards increasing membership? ?

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