Experimental

nowadays, a word
gets bored, and it tries
to invent what yet you
have not heard or seen
no outline
no color as you
imagine like blue and
white and red, just
a sheen of a ray
of light coming from
outside passing through
a stained glass
and then the choir
sings

alleluia! alleluia!

you wonder what is it:
a bat or a dove
or just plain image of
any bird
lost inside the
dome of the church
of Christ,

then the shadows come
ghosts of transparencies
not haunting
just letting themselves be

before you
awed, and wondering

white wings
halos, and feathers
angels,

alleluia! alleluia!

you are one quizzical
look against the whitewashed walls

one look, one confused word
trying to be
sort of one kind of
religious.

let us see, the old man
says it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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