a sinking temple

moths have eaten holes

in the faded green curtains

behind your eyes.

 

your mouth is a blackened

doorway marked “ICHABOD.”

 

your mighty spires have fallen,

your wishing well is filled

with bloated rats and soot,

your laughter is a cracked

church bell

rung to mark the end of glory.

 

the majority of your congregation

ran when the walls came down

in large stony chunks.

 

but not me.

 

I’ll stay here,

as salvation turns into doom,

and beauty becomes rubble.

 

I’ll wander the dried up prayers

of your ghostly gardens,

kneel before your cracked altar,

wade through pools of melted

candle wax,

scream old hymns

from yellowy, frayed paper.

 

I’ll wait for your resurrection

like an emaciated mutt

chained to an abandoned shack

in the haunted woods.

 

I’ll fight with all of my blood

to make your truth into Universal Truth.

 

yours is the only ideology

I’ve ever known.

 

I’d rather die in the faint glow of home

like a vigilant saint,

than live in the strange shadows of clarity

like a blind liar.

 

 

Author's Note

I guess it's harder to admit you're wrong,
if wrong is the only right
you've ever known.

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

You should write prayers for the Catholic church.

[roarke]

the last stanza is stand alone killer.
btw, amen.

[roarke]

the last stanza is stand alone killer.
btw, amen.