Architect of love, stones of hate, Christendom's temple, Hell's gate
Sao Miguel of angels Jesuits did create, Indian minds to educate
Mission of charity, whips and chains, heathens clear a graveyard holding believer's remains
Fallen tombstones on open plains where Spanish buried their blood stains
Three centuries later I slept aside the grave of an Indian husband and his bride
A graverobber's hole at its side, a broken small coffin, I looked inside
Visions of ghosts buried in the clay, that phantoms become under light of day
The flesh of reality may rot away but memories bones in an infant's shoe stay
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: October 21st, 2026 02:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 48
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Paul Bell, Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange, Kaz
- In collections: Halloween, History, Religion, Social commentary.
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Comments8
A fine write my friend
Thank you Norman your read and comment are always most appreciated.
most welcome, much enjoyed
The big fight live. God v Satan, and a knockout for God wins the day.
Religion, the word always portrays love, but for some reason, a lot of people always die around it.
Not a lot has changed it seems.
Thank you Paul for the read and take on this poem. When the Spanish came they brought missionaries and to the missionaries the only good Indian was a converted Indian to the Conquistadors the only good Indian was a dead one. This mission was burnt down in the mid 1700's in the Indian revolt and stands today as a UNESCO site. Some sixty years ago visited it and slept the night beside the grave yard. There was an open grave and broken coffin of an infant and in it was the bones still in the shoe.
That is sad.
It is amazing that one must convert to anothers thinking.
A bit like soldier blue.
Yes there is little tolerance for other's line of thought
Enjoy your writing. Your poem reflects on the themes of love, hate, memory, and the haunting presence of the past.
Thank you so much for the read and take on this. Yes it reflects my history as well as the country's and world's. As I mentioned in Paul's response above sixty years ago I slept here the night next to the grave yard and saw the exposed bones of an infant in its shoe. It reminded me of the Indian revolt that burned the mission some three hundred years before and the prejudice of religion and state against a people that were already here when they came. Today is not much different I am afraid.
Good write SB.
Thanks so much Orchi this one probably did not have an organ for hymns but I'm sure they sang none the less.
Sorenbarrett,
Very well penned.. It's like you brought your readers to the place...
Gel
Thank you Gelyn for the read and kind words of support they are appreciated
Interesting Poem and Background Information.
A good Write.
Thanks so much Kevin for the review and comment it is appreciated
My Pleasure.
Soren, the thought of someone disturbing a child's grave is absolutely sickening. Some things ought to be sacred regardless of who is buried there. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks Tristan for the read and comment it means a lot. Some images become ghosts that haunt one even many years latter
A beautiful depiction of the contrast between claims and realities. I especially liked the image of "memories bones."
Thank you Soheil for the read it means a lot to me. Yes those bones are stuck in my memory and were literal no just mental.
You are most welcome. I am deeply sorry those experiences were so painful and real. Some memories stay with us because they are etched not only in our minds but also in our hearts. Thank you for sharing something so personal, and I hope writing about it brings you some comfort.
You are most kind
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