Pulpit

Pauper, Prince and Preacher
at the pulpit stand
Crying out at the world
Voices roll off corners and crevice
Echoes find me and surround me
Cold air, warm breath clouds
Taking refuge in the lines
of strangers watching.
Watching their faces
written with concentration
and adoration.
Looking up and looking out
Bowing with deference and respect
at the trilogy
on a winter’s night,
a moment of respite.
An imposter sits
within the ranks
looking on with poker face,
hiding disgust and wanton lust,
balking at the thoughts,
crossing the threshold tonight.

Pauper, Prince and Preacher
at the pulpit stand.
Rallying words surround.
Crossing boundaries
Closing doors.
Whispers flow around
and with a look
Pauper, Prince and Preacher merge
and a shadow is all that’s found.