Searching in a Minster
Gold and grey, red and green
Shining silver; satin's sheen.
Glint of glass and gilt and glow
Of candles, they flicker now.

Chime of bell within, without,
Announces loud the hour's clout,
Whispered voices, low tones, high,
Shuffle of feet - of noise, they're shy.

Air of cold, crisp stone beneath,
Above our heads, under our feet,
Scent of little but the dust,
Incense has left no hint of musk.

All of these is where I am -
Centuries come and leave - the Lamb
Little bleats now in their hearts,
And features not in their life's chants.

Is this the better place to look
For the voice that I forsook?
If not here, then, tell me where?
Or is this all that's there?

Comments:
 
BlueIris   BlueIris wrote
on 5/5/2009 9:49:16 PM
Searching for more than a beautiful building--more than traditions, old stories, and hypocrites...

Michele   Michele wrote
on 5/5/2009 11:52:51 AM
I was so fortunate to have visited my mother's family in England 2 years ago, where they showed me her favorite church at ancient St. Alban's. We Americans have no idea that people live with thousand-year-old buildings every day---they are so awe-inspiring. Though they may have been built with corrupt funds and pillaged stone way-back-when, they do give one a sense of the simultaneous permanence and fleeting lifespans we humans own. Lovely verse.

Anyafay
Poetry
Free Verse
writing Anyafay
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