Sorry - this is not a bundle of laughs and I'm not sure where it has come from... it was painful to write and maybe painful to read: hence the "rating". But, better out than in, they say - even if you don't entirely understand it (which I don't!!). Must be in there somewhere...

It is supposed to be an example of Prose Poetry and is after Charles Simic: "The Church Of Insomnia"

THE CHURCH OF LOST CHILDREN


We gaze wistfully up again to behold the original beauty of the magnificent stained-glass of the window of shattered dreams. Faithful ones sit in suspended animation, held within cavernous space where a small soul may yet be lost forever, whilst fixed to a detached seat of humiliation and shame.

Always in front is that holy and distant place where an unknown Father hides himself away; and, to the side, a chapel of Mother Mary: absent.

The baby-faced minister models outmoded, adult uniforms - several sizes too big, but which barely conceal a vulnerable child's body beneath. He shepherds his flock, line by line, guiding them determinedly through the Credo: "I am a Big Boy now... I am Somebody... I am feeling fine and over it..."

Meanwhile, the child who is "father-to-the-man", leaves to comfort the grieving old lady who is sobbing uncontrollably for her mother in the creche next door.