The church bell tolled
Within the village’s yawing spree.
Dawn was calm and deep, easing
Light’s hegemony over lukewarm darkness
And the frailty of post-hour orisons.
I saw the clergy’s bedraggled chasuble,
Cursed by the fierce streak of something reddish.
On his mouth spewed forth wind-caked saliva,
Evidence of a hidden tryst.
The man with the candle came forth
And dawn’s looseness was merged with the
Yellowness of light.
The clouds, with hands clasped,
Chanted paternosters, lewd and unfamiliar.
Hymns rose above the crest of the church,
Befriending awestruck gargoyles.
Hymns replete with restive refrains, like
The choir of angry, protesting youths!
The lyrics condensed the hanging dews.
Immaculate boles of a virgin day,
Puking globules, whose frames painted
Faces of depressed prophets adorned in
White flowing gowns stained with semen,
As they stampede barefooted toward the south.
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Comments about this poem (Illusion by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
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