Crowds massed below, the great
hall soaring on columns to a lofty
height, tabernacle and chalices
flashing precious gold. Priestly
satin robes shimmering like jewels
in the candlelight. Bold gothic
wonders boggling my mind, opening
my soul, kindling a fire.
Prayers droned in God's tongue,
unintelligible Latin, sung in a male
chant hung with spice of incense,
sending our hopes aloft. Statues
and stained-glass saints surround us,
modeling the Christian life, their
spirits flitting like flickering flames,
unseen but sensed all the same.
first published in The Penwood Review
also published in Illinois State Poetry Society
©2014 Bonnie Manion