Here I venture, a pilgrim seeking a rekindling of faith,
odors of candle wax and polish assailing my senses,
cacophony of deafening silence ringing in my ears,
spirit baptized by the banishment of white noise.

the dead linger here, striving for immortality
In chiseled inscriptions on cold damp moldering walls,
their images resting on fractured marble sarcophagi
or entombed in stone coffins in subterranean crypts.

A carved eagle on his lofty oak pulpit
is rendered speechless by my questing intrusion,
guardian of a weighty tomb of wise men's words
displayed in vellum imbued with humanity's devotions.

I tiptoe reverently over worn tomb stone slabs,
final resting places of the pious and the wealthy,
bones ground down to dust by the passing centuries,
the dead briefly resurrected by my lingering gaze.

countless communion congregations have knelt here,
speedily departing after parson's hell fire sermon
to warmer hearths deemed more convivial for
the imbibing of wine weighted against the saving of souls.

yet still i'm drawn to this cold stone place of devotion
in my desire to untangle roots and long lost connections,
a thousand years have passed since this roof was raised,
a million voices since have sung their hymns in praise.