Uche Uwadinachi Poetry

Behind that gold crested chamber
Rest your serene unleavened divinity
A risen old creed of your last feast
-living word that breeds men

I asked...
Could there be a faith
More gray,genetic and
Alive as this sacrament?

Your enclosed flame;
Burns of wax and incense
Flickers a steady light
Unmoved by protesting breeze
I heared,
You are the iris of the tebernacle
No wonder your closed lid
Signs a mediating semester:

Sick souls kneel
Mumbling lips, Motioned faces...
Stringed beeds dangle
In several strands
Devotion...so amazing

Ooh!mysteries of the altar
Such wholesome grace
You dispense without cost

Do allow me
A whole day in your bossom
"and surely"
Yesterday shall pass over me.

Poet: uche uwadinachi