Oh foolish me!
I’d prayed (I thought)
Holy relics reverence
for God’s house taught.

In horror sight of holy hell
As century old steeple fell
The helpless cried
And Macron tried
To have it rise again.
Hope conquered crushing pain.

Sighs of relief
Displace our grief
News of redemption
Instead of corruption

Pleasure to know
Copper statues survive
Their metal will glow
Artworks safely arrive
At Louvre to hide
But Crown of Thorns
Still show
That
Sorrow we’ll always know.

The poor you have with you always

In a jiffy
Big kitty
Monies flow.
Contributions grow
Billions of euro
Counted on breaking backs
In human slavery commotion
luxury goods production

Suffering souls
In hungry bellies wanting food
Broken bodies needing rest
And pay for doing goods-
All God’s holy houses.
There’s the test.

For God does not dwell in temples made by human hands

Your workers’ wages
Bring offerings to God
In holy pages writ
Injustice you quit
Poverty to erase
All workers need grace
Temples of the Living God.

About Joan Delsol Meade

Unashamedly Christian, though not a Christian imperialist. A Dominican from Montserrat, Caribbean woman, home maker, pastor and community builder. Child advocate and sponsor

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *