Echo On

Medieval scent of mortared stone.
Above the altar, sunlit dome.
Rays of sun congealing
on the many idols there.

Arches and a silence seeking,
speaking softly of deliverance.
One heart and soul that reaches
for the feeling of eternity in love.

Curlicues, a mason's dream.
Angels fly in frozen streams.
Blessed, all they who dare to care
outside the heavy doors.

Medieval mood, a sanctuary.
An early morning mortuary.
Oh the dreams, that found
their end in you.

Blood weeping from
the endless wounds.
Chanting order,
sacred tunes.

Tone and tint
without a touch of flesh.
Cold and hard, the pews
of our abstention.

Medieval scent of mortared stone.
Above the altar, sunlit dome.
Rays of sun congealing
on the many idols there.

Arches and a silence seeking,
speaking softly of deliverance.
One heart and soul that reaches
for the feeling of an eternity of love.

"Peace" - the whispers echo out.
"Love" - the heart without a doubt.
Out on the streets,
the prayers echo on...

? Michaelette ?

6/4/2002
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .