In my holy chapel
Whose arches span
From the equator to the Arctic
I sit in the sun and sort my words
Quiet conquers all
Past the horizon
I worship the unseen
The congregation of waves
Ministers to me
I gaze at Saints and apostles
Painted on the sphere of sky
Who debate in the Holy of Holies
And emerge through the veil, alive
I could never dwell among them--
Their wings get in my way
Just let me sleep below their feet
Tides and time wash words away,
Banish heartache to the deep
Bury old wounds at sea
I cannot afford crucifix or tears
I shed the finery to worship here
Rain pelts green waves
Now blue after sea skies
Rise fast again to brilliance
Pouring warm words over my heart
To turn my back on destruction
from Cathedrals
- Vote for this poem -
| Please Comment On This Poem |
|
|
|
|
|
| mckinleycooper |
|
|
|