The Dead Ghosts of Notre Dame
Reflections on a pane of tinted glass,
why do we think these pieces will last?
because they are beautiful?
because they hold our memories?
even the past can fall to disease,
even ancient spires crumble
and proud empires are made humble.
Here,
walking upon the void of time,
the great expanse,
we see the truth of it
nature comes and goes,
as it sees fit
its wrath and mercy defining our lives,
like a barrier.
The seasons,
the weather,
the horn and the feather,
the gods,
Mars and Venus,
in all things,
we look for softness,
but find only the cold and the harsh
we grow weary of traipsing this marsh
and build a bridge across,
forgetting what is down underneath,
forgetting that something will shatter our belief.
Bridges and spires
will always be replaced
by storms and fires,
but whatever the calamity,
our ambitions reach higher,
digging our claws,
our foundations,
into the mire.
I think we want to be real,
but in this pursuit we forget how to feel
we want to shout into the void,
‘I was there!’
but we forget the ground beneath our feet
we draw barriers between the chafe and the wheat,
victory and defeat.
Perhaps the answer is to rest,
lay down our swords,
our hammers and our tors,
fall upon the ground
and open up to whatever comes around.
