Poetry Friday: The Old Oak Door

The Old Oak Door

They beat the old oak door with metal, hot
With orange flame, they cast a holy scene
Through windows of stained glass, an afterthought
Of sacred things that men have turned obscene.
The pastor in the chapel holds his face
And worships at the feet of Christ the Lord;
The mob is all enveloped in God’s grace,
Though fire and blood deface the old oak door.
The pastor cries, “How can these souls be starved?”
For long he has been faithful to the cause.
So many years have passed that God has carved
Lines on the pastor’s face with holy laws.
The pastor takes a passage through the floor;
And, shrouded, joins to burn the old oak door.

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