Church

My tears well up as the children play,
one flapping a page to have her say.
Her angel wings, her hair like hay.

The host is raised and we stand to pray.

A little old man, hunchbacked and poor
drops his wafer on the floor.
A handsome woman gives him one more;

his body broken and we stand to pray.

The priest says 'fire' a lot, then more.
I saw one like him in Singapore;
reading the Vedas, keeping score.

No wine that time and we stand to pray.

About This Poem

Style/Type: Structured: Western

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft