memoirs, art and fragments by Thomas Milner

A Moment of Truth

I caught a moment of truth

There in that old church,

Sitting remotely gazing

At the old carved gold

Of that quiet place.

 

I tried to pray

For me and mine

And for departed souls,

But my mind broke free,

Lifted and fluttered trapped,

Jerky and sorrowful, under

The fiddling fluted baroque

Of the Renaissance dome.

 

The purple of childhood’s

Dolorous Church

The stations of agony

Of English Gothic

The correct anticipation of

Decorous Easter – the cool,

Delicious costly scent of

Sculptured French chocolate.

 

Out again into the sunlight

On the steps of the old Convent

Church, I pause in that beauty –

The bright Portuguese light

The town below me

And the ocean gleaming over the trees.

Oh! Thank you for the day

29 . 3 . 97

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