OUT of the dead cathedral, where dead saints
Mark for untold contempt worn, sorry tales
Mumbled by fatted priests, whose boast be-
-wails
Earth, so its part – their creed – that grey church
Taints me with sepulchral care, till pleasure faints.
Limp under suckling grief. Away from this !
Out in the live town’s turmoil, all remiss,
Is nobler than such prolix grandeur paints.
Here in this sacred place God is secure!
His golden blood hence, here, and hither drugs
Life. Ships, lands, cables, railways, roads, entice
Spoil to this great hushed temple; men immure
Their sons, all future hope here; here Death hugs,
Slimes, and devours their gluttony and vice.
(E J Rupert Atkinson)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, Sons Poems, Grief Poems, Vice & Virtue Poems, Hugs PoemsBased on Keywords: fatted, drugs, remiss, suckling, mumbled, gluttony, railways, cables, taints, immure, slimes