A patient holy man

Sunday priest gives alms to a poor creek,
he has the indulgence to do so,
he prays to himself for he cannot pray for
others, yet he freely visits the poor
uneducated mothers with young children,
he reads from the good book,
dismisses whatever they find insulting. ….
as penance, he allows them
to rattle their nondenominational crosses

He’s a patient holy man, willingly waits for
sinners to grow out of the taste
for perpetual crime and breathing the
ghetto street. ….stays well away
from the nonchalant breed whose souls
have defiled their bodies, lips
that salute prostitutes; asks how their
manners will be after death,
for death will ask for the pay it served for

Upon his breast he wears the white, takes
off his hat to collect nickels and
dimes for an orphanage, takes the lonely
out to see stars and trees and
creeks, for there are the alms for the
poorly neglected. ….devotes
his time to finding them homes in the
country, where there’s earth
sun, animals and heavenly skies to breathe.

Copyright © 07/15/2015 fishbonepoetry®

priest

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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