Contemporary to the age that I live in
Caged by the fashions I fail to live in
Controlled by the markets that get on each day
I am a vigil unto myself by the end of the day.

There is worthiness and there is worship
There is the rigmarole of the self.
There is homage and there is self awareness
There is here and there for me to be perfection in.

The teacher tells me the meaning of the verse
The director addresses the timing of the hearse
The website fixes the prices of my poems
And the neighbours advertise the size of their knowing.

Such is the development of my sad days
When money is not flowing like Niagra Falls says
And health deteriorates to the bottom of a rock
Where the crew is damaged like a flimsy dream in Iraq.

These are the hopes and fear of one frightful hour
When the urchin is emotional about serving God for an hour:
So who is in charge of the Temple where it is said
Pray to me, your Papal History, as long as I am read?

AI Summary

Your poem reflects on the tension between the contemporary world — its fashions, markets, websites, neighbours, and economic pressures — and your own inner vigilance, worthiness, and longing for something sacred. You contrast worship with self‑awareness, teachers with directors, poetry with pricing, and neighbours’ gossip with your own quiet struggle. The poem moves through money troubles, deteriorating health, damaged crews, and the emotional fragility of someone trying to serve God in a world that feels indifferent. It ends with a haunting question: who truly presides over the Temple — the divine, the institution, or the reader — and what does it mean to pray when the world around you feels transactional, exhausted, and spiritually thin.