Incense <br />& music <br /> <br />candle light <br />& stained glass <br /> <br />these <br />my religion <br /> <br />the church <br />of the senses <br /> <br />my only existence <br /> <br />lost <br />in the sweet jangle <br /> <br />of the swinging brazier <br /> <br />prayer <br />forming in the air <br /> <br />real & tangible <br />as a ghost <br /> <br />coiling & <br />uncoiling <br /> <br />like a snake <br />made of smoke <br /> <br />wrapping itself <br />around the choir's <br /> <br />sweet voices <br /> <br />love to see <br />the words <br /> <br />clothed <br />in smelly smoke <br /> <br />ascend <br />the perfumed air <br /> <br />building a stairway <br />of music <br /> <br />made suddenly <br />visible <br /> <br />reaching for a Heaven <br />even then <br /> <br />I knew <br />did not <br /> <br />exist <br /> <br />glorying only <br />in the make believe <br /> <br />the theatre <br />of the self.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/theatre-of-the-self-for-my-old-pal-al/
