I find it hard to trust people

So enter if you dare into my cursed steeple

This dastardly church hold pews on fire

Memorises of enemies and lost hope or desire

Our priest isn’t here he went out for a drink

So sit in my confessional and tell me what you think

For there is not a sin I have not heard

No book whose pages I haven’t turned

This chapel is my lover’s heart

These broken windows my precious art

And still I come to praise

Pray I might find some hell to raise


  • Author: AlinaVanderson (Offline Offline)
  • Published: November 5th, 2018 09:59
  • Comment from author about the poem: Please don't copy but comments make my day
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 15


  • orchidee

    You sneaked into that confessional while the priest is out, to hear naughty tales?! oohh heehee.

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