Poetry

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‘My Church’- January 2010

There are secrets here
Deeper than deep
Darker than sinister
They are stitched to the soul
Have a life of their own.
They are not irredeemable
They are only waiting-
They are only secrets waiting to be set free.

I sit and hear the banshees howling
They think no one else can hear
But I do
They flirt with me at the altar
God is impotent, they declare
They are deceived
They only smell the smoke of their master’s breath
Their shrieks are like counted days

So what are they doing in church, you ask?
Whose house is it anyway?
They imagine they are the keepers of the secrets:
They think they can keep them quiet.
But they can’t
The light exposes them.
Demons uneasy-
Soul movement discerned
Redemption in process.

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