Shadows on the broken ceiling;
the half-caste night is revealing
painted plaster pieces peeling,
and falling on the floor.
Pious sermon, prayer-book reading,
mouthing words, never heeding
back-row baby bottle-feeding,
and bawling on the floor.
Solemn faces, little feeling,
body-weary, mind is reeling,
rheumic joints from prolonged kneeling,
and crawling on the floor.
Preaching, beseeching, sin-impeaching,
righteous clergy, barely reaching
congregation, rarely teaching,
but calling on God's Law.
Search for comfort in religion,
seeking sacred words of wisdom.
Never listen. No decision.
Merely stalling Evermore.
David SmithWhite
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadows-7/
