THE BLEEDING ARCH

It owns me
From the first creak of that
heavy oak, sister to the deep bled
arch
Doorway to the dusty gloom of 
Musty prayer books
love and doom

It covers me.. in ancient notes,
forgiving smiles, and organ
throats
In the swishing pomp
In the squeaking soles
In scuffed scarred smells of
servants, thrones

In the higher voices lowered low
In candle fumes from the sacred
row
In the bones layed out
On a cross to bear, in the stone
floors of three centuries wear
and,

In dances as the dust motes fly
Through shafted beams from
windows high
In the colours
From my melted dreams
In the haunting of my ghosts
unseen

Still, the mildewed benches call
me forth
Every time,
Under stained glass eyes
Where shepherds watch their
flocks by night
And the righteous kneel to feel
the light
Where the angels at the alters
pray and a Sunday is the only
way
To know

And I say to God that I won't stay
long, that he's not for me yet I
crave his home
And he welcomes me as my
riches rot
As my tears flow, fill the holy
fonts while he whispers that,
I'm never not forgot  

M P 2/11/21