Theatre of the Self (for my old pal Al)

Incense
& music

candle light
& stained glass

these
my religion

the church
of the senses

my only existence

lost
in the sweet jangle

of the swinging brazier

prayer
forming in the air

real & tangible
as a ghost

coiling &
uncoiling

like a snake
made of smoke

wrapping itself
around the choir's

sweet voices

love to see
the words

clothed
in smelly smoke

ascend
the perfumed air

building a stairway
of music

made suddenly
visible

reaching for a Heaven
even then

I knew
did not

exist

glorying only
in the make believe

the theatre
of the self.

poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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