CATHEDRAL:

In the soft, silver, swirling, labyrinthic & mazy mists, alone it stands,

Silent in its weathered & grey sconced stone, heralded by no bands,

Overlooked by dictatorial gargoyles & the sad effigies of many eons,

Its building, controlled by scions & its stones placed by hungry peons.

Ivy-filigreed fingers, embrace with lacy bonding, old weathered walls,

And in their silent creeping, the whispering death-foliaged leaves fall,

From the frilled fabrics of wisteria & ancient lore of church-yard yews,

The mullioned eyed raven, vigilant & seeing beyond old singing pews.

Bleeding stained-glass windows dance with sun-leaded epic shadows,

Ancient goblet offering Christ´s blood to sinners seeking holy hallows,

The silent footsteps of God, echoing upon the steps to chilly steeple,

Raising the hair on the napes of the Sunday kneeling, praying people.

In the pewter dusk, the echoing choral witterings of brown belfry bats,

And beneath mossy tombstones, lie those in shrouds & old black hats,

The old cathedral stands proud & tall, in time & ancient endless stone,

And as the cold bells ring out from above, the cathedral & I stand alone.