Monday, May 14, 2012

After The War

The bells toll from crumbling towers
Almost too ruined to ring
Rats roll in packs
Pigeons pack in cloisters
Hallowed halls with alabaster virgins.

They look on impassively
The sins of  sinners, strangers
As the past mantras and hail Mary's
Fade from tattered tapestries.

The Candace of countless centuries
Pass through high steeples
Embodied monoliths in the wind.

1 comment:

  1. it was always there who we were.
    writing can help show how far from the original spot we boomerange.