A sestina-form (not a true sestina) poem that I wrote last year.
With vibrant stained glass
With a powerful, high steeple
With an earth-jarring bell
With elaborate wooden pews
And with me in mind
I thought you wouldn't mind
What I did with that church
How I treated it as gently as glass
How I adored life from the steeple
The songs I played from that bell
That played music for the pews
As you sat in the pews
You had more than faith in mind
You considered profit from the church
And the value of the stained glass
And every brick that made the steeple
But not the music from the bell
You came as deafening as the bell
And tainted all the pews
Greed destroyed your vulnerable mind
When everyone entered the church
They only saw stained glass
And the strength inside the steeple
But all forgot the steeple
Was housing that placid bell
And only thought of how it towered over the pews
All because of your corrupted mind
Outside they saw a church
Inside they saw stained glass
Finally, you sold off all the glass
And dismantled that wicked steeple
You thought to Hell with the bell
It went half-off with the pews
You had only gain on your mind
As you sold away my church
I cried in that place devoid of pews
Yet I still had faith on my mind
I no longer need your church
Poetry by Paul Vermette
Read 539 times
Written on 2008-03-24 at 19:50
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My Church
You built me a churchWith vibrant stained glass
With a powerful, high steeple
With an earth-jarring bell
With elaborate wooden pews
And with me in mind
I thought you wouldn't mind
What I did with that church
How I treated it as gently as glass
How I adored life from the steeple
The songs I played from that bell
That played music for the pews
As you sat in the pews
You had more than faith in mind
You considered profit from the church
And the value of the stained glass
And every brick that made the steeple
But not the music from the bell
You came as deafening as the bell
And tainted all the pews
Greed destroyed your vulnerable mind
When everyone entered the church
They only saw stained glass
And the strength inside the steeple
But all forgot the steeple
Was housing that placid bell
And only thought of how it towered over the pews
All because of your corrupted mind
Outside they saw a church
Inside they saw stained glass
Finally, you sold off all the glass
And dismantled that wicked steeple
You thought to Hell with the bell
It went half-off with the pews
You had only gain on your mind
As you sold away my church
I cried in that place devoid of pews
Yet I still had faith on my mind
I no longer need your church
Poetry by Paul Vermette
Read 539 times
Written on 2008-03-24 at 19:50
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
