Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Clouds loiter outside
stained-glass
equally pigment and
dust
blurring pews strewn
with gaping song books,
silent mouths amid
sprouts of green.
Forgotten cathedral,
await the breach of
sun, her voice a
horn, pleading
to paint stone
tiles in shades
of biblical stories.
Your longing
echoes, an
ache in
under-rhythms
felt across time
by those who
reach.
A portrait of something I love. Go listen to Brahms.

— The End —