.

Roofless Church

The stone-hewn walls,
No window sash.
No pews, no halls.
Burnt logs, damp ash.

The roof, vanished.
No organ flues.
Shaped block, granite,
And endless view.

Above, hawks soar.
No bells to chime.
No wooden floors.
The rasp of time.

No stained-glass panes.
A Celtic cross.
Stony door frames.
Graves thatched with moss.

Inside, packed sod
Where tourists tramped.
Can we see God,
where hikers camped?

This silent space.
Cathedral bare.
This sacred place
In awe we stare.

A sapphire sky.
Holy. Austere.
Time trudges by.
We shall dwell here.

.

.

Peter Venable has been writing poetry for 50 years. He has been published in Windhover, Third Wednesday, Time of Singing, The Merton Seasonal, American Vendantist, The Anglican Theological Review, and others. He is a member of the Winston Salem Writers. On the whimsical side, he has been published in Bluepepper, Parody, Laughing Dog, The Asses of Parnassus, and Lighten Up Online (e. g. # 48)

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6 Responses

  2. Paul Freeman

    A clear, profound image produced with a few staccato words.

    Great stuff, Peter.

    Reply
  3. Danae Garriga

    Great poem! Alludes to the fact that places are somehow “alive” even after a building may be long gone, the events that happened there live on forever. Especially one used for worship!

    Reply
  5. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Peter, this is a wonderful ode to the spirit that we can still feel present in a place where a congregation once worshipped. Thank you for memorializing this one that must have been special.

    Reply

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