Light streams through cathedrals as the arc of history is bent towards divinity
Narrow fenestrations permit lonely shafts of pale blue parallels and illuminate his path as circles of metal candles swirl and cast feint blue lumens fragile upon the cold heart of marbled floors
In these days the interiors of God’s revelation are conflicted with deadly strife a prelude to an Armageddon of hell
The embryos of war morph and herald death … orphans of the underworld
A bolt as concentrated as it is luminous follows the transit of the Sun and the dawn and the dusk
it stalks him
The poet is a marked man as he struggles to keep alive his notions of peace encircled within the space of worship
The house of God well built over centuries its interiors silent as the voices of monks resonate with the plainsong of an ancient provenance and candles burn to warm their ways then all are stilled
the light extinguished like the sun at death
a solemn song righteous as the light trembling confronts the dark
incense swirls and
bells toll remotely in some forgotten folder of the mind
Flynnpoetry 