cathedral

The Cathedral
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The tops of the broken, gothic spires
Could almost touch the clouds.
I could see them through the remains of the roof,
As I picked my way through the rubble
Littering the shattered mosaic tiles.
The walls and the columns stood still,
And in the east wall, a vast arch shed light
In stained-glass colours on the wreckage.
Below it, the altar, manifest with gold,
Bore a shining falcon
Spreading its burnished wings over the scene.
But where were you?
And what did it mean?

Vague memories floated up like ghosts
Faintly, as I descended the stairs.
A long coming I'd had, riding on horseback
Over endless moors, in the mist.
And all to find this?
At last the valley, and the horse could hardly
Find a path between so many graves.
Each house seemed a shut tomb.
A rumbling dim echo of a long-latent memory,
And a boulder had blocked the crypt,
Its secrets better left to rot.
But why was I here?
And why were you not?

Suddenly! The bell! The bell!...
I raced up the tower's well-worn steps,
My boots cracking the stone -
But the copper bell was in open air,
Being mindlessly tolled by the wind,
And you were not there.
And where was I?

In the nave I kicked over a grecian urn,
And a toad crawled suspiciously out.
The gargoyles whispered behind my back,
So when darkness fell, I prayed.
My questions seemed all so curious and trivial,
Ambiguous and disturbed and decayed.
I loved you still, in my broken church,
As I stood in the moonlight and waited,
Waited a while to see if there might be
Some final atmospheric vision...