U. S. Highway One North of Titusville

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

The concrete church, Christ white, could not afford

A steeple pointing up to crystal sea.

The concrete blocks could only whisper, “Lord,”

Rectangular that word, no belling plea

For seeking out of souls along the road,

The concrete road in front of bell-less church.

The boringest of little blossoms brought the mode

Of this white painted building.  Hearts in search

Might miss the message blocked up in the space

Because no steeple pointed to their needs.

More like a crenelated fortress place

The structure was with highway fence of weeds.

  Plain reverence waited day by day inside,

    More like an altar-less abandoned bride.

Note:  the poet’s childhood church

had written across the wall behind the pulpit,

“REVERENCE MY SANCTUARY”—in medieval script.

© Phillip Whidden