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Christian Poetry

unleavened bread

here i sit in cluttered room
calmly, tearly reminisce
weave upon my poet's loom
touch a letter often read
from a friend i've lately missed
sooth—the writings of the dead

read a book with broken binding
memorize a lovèd line
shroud my poem with artless windings
drawn from fibers of the past
sip a paper cup of wine
change the words i've written last


these my wordly deeded ways
steeped in angered arrogance
protected by the recitation
of insidious explanation
crushed now on the barren truth
sprouting from my withered youth
pleading, crying, “i am Thine!”
graceless, leprous, libertine

these the problems caused by greed
by my selfless cool obsession
with my dire imagined need
in monastic isolation
from the wantings of the poor
(foundlings left beside the door)
greed, which prayer can absolve
problems money cannot solve


With a scar upon my heart
and my heart upon my sleeve
I shall knock upon the door
of the Church of Sanctity

with a blush upon my face
and a face subdued by grief
with a word or two of prayer
I shall seek the cool relief

of a formal absolution
after bitter-sweet contrition
at the end of secrecy

this sharp correction wrought of God
scrawls upon my soul an odd
inscription of fragility

and thus begins my restitution:
prayer, penance, destitution
in the Church of Mystery.

by Ronald L Conte Jr

© Copyright 1995 by Ronald L Conte Jr

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