Confessional Poetry

there is no
big box where i
can hide my
face

there is no parish
priest who listens
there is hallway
of the old
spanish church

there are no sparrows
no owls
and no fanfare
no dogmas and
circulars

just me
my finger and my
keys

i am both listener
and spiritual adviser
i am both my
silence and chatter
i am the owl in this
night
the robin in the pews
of my mind
i am my own dogma
but still
no fanfare
nothing to circulate
for there is
no bragging about
the sins
of conceit
the omissions of
the good
the true and the
beautiful

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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