The Age of Wraith

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Along the nave are sculptures of a king

And queen, a saint part covered in crowned gilt.

Along the nave are windows with the wing

Of angel who has never suffered guilt.

The sculptures can be smashed, the gold removed.

The stony robe of queen has long been smashed.

The Germans bombed the glass.  Its hues have proved

Too fragile, a saint himself with hammer trashed.

The choirs continue beauty through the air

As if the congregations still believe.

The beauty of the Anglicans is like a glare

Of faith where only unbelief can grieve.

  That lack of faith is levitating through

    The choral scene.  The loveliness is true.

© Phillip Whidden