Five hundred years and counting…
If only there were a door
to nail more theses on.
This shadowed night,
or even the following morn.
A promise of opening,
the guess of being seen,
our humane edifice
with its eternal red door.
Now we see only blood,
and wall beyond wall.
Perhaps the voices of angels
dispersing. Then silence
in the begotten streets
where the rest of us gather,
vendors trade and police arrest,
the unseen trough catches
the victims’ blood.
We still need utter reform,
honest indulgence, mercy
of the heart that sings
in abbey bells and cracks
the stained glass, prays
in the knees of the penitent.
Who in our time will stab
such words, beget the reform?
David Radavich’s recent poetry collections are, America Bound: An Epic For Our Tim;, Middle-East Mezze; and The Countries We Live In. His plays have been performed across the U.S., including six Off-Off-Broadway, and in Europe. www.davidradavich.org.
