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Sep 2016
At the monastery,
the tall cathedral walls of my stone ego
crumble into a pile on the floor
Prostrate they lay~
a stubborn unwanted remnant
replaced with salty tears of shame
that pool into my mouth

Down the corridor I hear their voices~
the good monks who live in solitude
Every reverent note piercing my heart
like a shard of stained mosaic glass
until its decayed chambers fibrillate
with a surge of energizing love
that torques its motor back to life

A church bell clangs loudly in the distance
The ancient bronze ordering
the dark well of my soul to drag itself back home
and never look back again

Written by Sara Fielder © Dec 2012
Sara Went Sailing
Written by
Sara Went Sailing  Bohemia
(Bohemia)   
341
   Doug Potter
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