Earthly palaces, scattered the world round,
Are as much yours as they are, as such, mine.
Inside, the body is defined and bound,
In a sacred cadence with Bread and Wine;
Fine statues, stations, stained glass, and bells sound;
A sacred altar is where the guests all dine.
One organism, of bone and flesh, a sign,
A mystical presence; its Head: King, crowned.
Why today are so many in exile?
“My ghost has thrown off the yoke!” they proclaim,
Blaspheming the Lord who foresaw the pew and aisle
As the meeting place to kindle the flame,
All of human creation, Jew and Gentile,
A sure house for healing the sick and lame.
Gary Edward Geraci