I understand it was not for love of man was built
this house, but God.
I watch as upon each stone as token of toil
much blood and sweat was spilt.
Many miles by distant pilgrims were trod
to see Church take root in the grey and lifeless soil.
I see them get on their knees to pray
in the solemn shadow of cool, marble colonnades.
Pews whisper with devotion-filled solitude
regardless of season, night and day,
lured into quiet contemplation, hidden in the shade,
reeking of hope, desperation and gratitude.
I know this was a place once holy and rare,
but now the ghosts have moved on.
Only bones are left, forgotten crosses, broken tombs,
of gold and decoration bare.
God’s servants and sycophants all scattered, long gone.
Sacred spaces crumble, fall, return to earth’s womb.
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