Prufrock at Vespers

A Meditation on the Church
 at the turn of a century

Shall we go, then, you and I

to this place in coat and tie

enamored by some crucifix

to socialize and to mix?

 

Word by word and pew by pew

recite the rite with just a few

as shadows merge and touch on walls

and lovely tunes our hearts enthrall.

 

As chant and water swirl in sounds

we dream of golden wedding gowns.

The Bridegroom comes expecting change,

but all He finds are empty names.

 

In the silence we belong to

sanctified and holy throngs.

A word or two from here, from there,

vague hymns of love, sentimental prayer.

 

In the silence

we remain

a hollow shell

an empty name.

 

A time for change has come around

for sanctified and holy ground.

 

Yet…

 

through bloody walks and sticky streets

we roll our trousers from our feet.

Through the centuries grown old

we run and wear our trousers rolled.

 

Undecided decide for death

and in the gasp of our last breath

dare we take a peach?

 

Corporately we’re dead:

motionless corpse without a head,

abandoned for three endless days,

shall we ever be raised?

 

And would it be worth it after all,

to come back and to blindly fall

on sticky streets padded with blood?

And would it be worth it after all?

 

After all there is no decision

only endless revision!

 

And would it be worth it after all

to disturb the universe and fall

prey to some dark question?

 

Belonging to this time we know

that being is a ritual.

Shadows pass on broken walls

as we leave our stained-glass halls.

 

And we walk down silent streets

while the darkness gently greets

and beckons on.

 

Copyright @2021 by Kenn Storck

Written and revised over a 30-year period.

Reprint only with permission. kennstorck@gmail.com