The Purest Pantheon, I enter

    It shouldn’t be here,
a bloated boil, all grey and sore
on the skin of the city
eclipsing the day with its dome,
whose mould makes mountains—
choking the spirit with the stench
of corruption.

   I can picture it in its older days:
   baroque bars that held the dome up 
   as though strutting the place
   in all its golden glory. 

   What does it hold now, this hallowed hall?
   The signs of its dead occupiers defaced, years ago,
   give no clue as to what or who belongs here.

Stretched around its skin, a tattooed band:
Hallelujah, I Am The Resurrection.
   Hallelujah, I Am The Resurrection
   Hallelujah, I Am The Resurrection
   the unrhythmic tattoo of the words
   spill from the wall and into my mind.

   I approach the doors, 
   and feel the wood pucker underneath my skin,
   making mothballs fly as I tore them wide
   violating the space as the hinges scream
   clanging tight behind me—
   The catch of light been and gone.

  I have penetrated the silence,
  my footfalls echo—hollow—
while windowless walls quiver in the perpetual night.

  But when my eyes adjust, I have the desperate wish
  that I stayed blind. 
  Such sordid sight—the tales are true!

The Stone Vignettes of Religious Agony.

What do you think? Let me know in the comments below, or by liking and sharing! Don’t be afraid to share your opinion!

© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: