Whispers penetrate flesh walls,
secrets resound like a melody
within the temple of mind.
A church choir of boys
a tongue they never understood,
yet made beautiful in spite.
An angelic host of innocence,
perched in perfect rows;
perverse men licking dry lips
conduct harmony, as
chorus echoes in rounds
confined by marble stone
laid by hypocritical hands.
In time holy walls stand,
coffers full and overflowing
while souls remain empty.
Yet pride crumbles the benevolent,
corrupt tongues stumble awkwardly
over the dulled ivory teeth of time.
Stained glass fragments let in truth,
rays of light stream through darkness
reflecting a shattered faith sanctuary
built upon broken bones of man.
Photo Credit, Sam Webber illustration for “the Priest That Preyed” – New York Times