From the outside,
Over the churchyard,
Where the rusted
Metal playground stuff
Has been replaced
By plastic that won’t
Rust,
Windows like eyes
That stare down,
Cold even in the sun
Distant,
The gaze of a remote
Goddess who gives
Me birthday wishes
As I grow old,
Windows I once
Had the chance
To look out from,
Never fully appreciating
The view,
Church and long street,
A water tower
A century out of date,
This haven of hers
Where she hides
On more desperate
Mornings, before
The sun wakes up
The world,
A Seventh Heaven
From which I have
Been cast out,
For having lost faith
In salvation.
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