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DEAD RINGERS



Cathedral bells fall slowly from leaden

beams embedded with casual phrases,

flippantly tossed about toward heaven

pell-mell with knowing nods: covert exchanges.



All the while, clapping; paying the bell

toll with coin extracted indulgently from

pilgrims, skimmed off the top from dross of hell,

extruded then channeled to "God's" kingdom.



Midst clamor, chasms quietly open

allowing rain to seep in unnoticed

puddling surreptitiously by icon

statue, arms extended



………………………………..as if embraced

by some unseen guest, who may have waded

past guilded guardians since displaced,

missed appeal of the one they've traded



Traders all, I fear, traitors to the cause

CRASH

…….SPLASH

……………CLANG

…………………..Jesus Christ, they give me pause.



© 2000 Barton J. Breen