The church is a tidy corner of my mind,
a space safe from intrusion,
for only like-minded souls may enter.
There is a code, not for dress, but for respect
and yes, the truth – true as light enters
from the south window and door,
as sure as nature rules over us
by allegory and design
copyright Francis Barker 2020
Among thousands of well-tended churchyards,
the lychgate remains guarding some
as the portal from this life. In and out
we may pass during our petty days,
to sip tea and enthuse over cake,
to attend a happy marriage
or a hopeful christening. Yet we never see
the day when the wooden gate opens, for us,
through that final time when the funeral meats
have turned cold and our daily minutiae
will have counted for naught, except
in the annals of that eternal judge
copyright Francis Barker 2020
Who would have the time, the patience and the patronage, to build a new edifice to faith? Today's monstrosities arise to lesser gods, steel and glass tombs where no one lives, while shanty towns mass around in some claustrophobic hell, whose denizens fight and beg just to stay alive. Such juxtaposition is not new - only the extremes.
copyright Francis Barker 2020
