From the commoner and his diary

I sit in the chapel
which is but a boundary
between here and the outer
where someone once found me

and so I pray,
let’s say to God,
which sounds very reasonable
although slightly odd.

Perhaps though
the faith that we find
is in the peace of mind
that we allow ourselves

In words I hardly understand
from a language spoken
in a far distant land
there comes
an echo from the long ago,

not wanting too,
not listening
hearing you,
knowing you,

this time for me
is more than enough
Religion is the stick we beat ourselves with

© 2020, John Smallshaw.