Mike carter

To dare to Dream

 Beneath a vaulted ceiling built from dreams Thus forged by man I seek my own salvation.

Where a great tower of stone reaches for the heavens as if paying homage to an invisible deity.

A tomb where words are whispered with less frequency Seeking forgiveness for sins that were defined by others.

Cold still air where incense and candles abound Adding nothing to the moment, but transient reflection.

 

This enigma, this edifice built by man for man Where words are concealed by individual thought.

But others are shared, as if the one is not enough As if a voice must be loud, to be heard, to be received.

For me there is no salvation in this place, this monument This offspring of man’s, guilt,

a concession That acknowledges sin for all its misconceptions. I see naught but death reflected in marble memories.

 

They adorn the walls clinging to time like faded ivy As I walk upon the bones of those long past And question,

where is the reverence in that Where are the tears once shed for such luminaries

Flowers fresh picked to die for the most part unseen In a small stone niche, which traps the light.

For I came seeking answers to find only ritual. I came for support finding only, the what once was.

 

In multi colored glass, fixated smiles and sightless eyes. cannot and do not witness the door that bars my entrance.

oak and iron bound, a formidable barrier to the House of the common man, to all peoples.

The key a reminder that even here in this revered place Can sometimes be found nothing more, than icons.

To some a place of contemplation, yet others a duty Forged by memories, the foundations of which lay in death.

 

Others who believe, because it is their salvation Their armour against the rigors of a complex life.

And thus I step through the door and the darkness Fades away, for now the splinters of glass have gone.

In their place a thousand leaves that continue to dance Upon trees that are set against a sky of blue.

I no longer hear songs as raised in supplication But rather that of the crow, as he circles the spire

 

For he sings his own song for me today. I observe a robin upon a crumbling memorial

Where once tears were shed as memories unfolded. But now those words are faded supplanted by mother nature

She weaves ivy up and down, in and out until all semblance of what was, becomes a bouquet of the now.

So salvation for me does not live behind stone walls But in the hearts, the words, and deeds of others.

 

Time to turn my back on this quiet place, but I nod with respect. To those and for those,

who find peace within its walls The crow has been replaced by the blackbird

The perfect choice for a chorus in this sheltered glade. Each footstep strives to distance me from the truth

Each shadow a reminder of what I have seen And memories planted deep within the mind

 

Of those granite spires and golden icons spread before me Now rain gentle warm as if to aid in my redemption

To conceal the tears I shed in favor of an April shower I did seek the sanctuary of that which brings comfort

And yet did offer nothing to me but perpetual silence. Such is inner peace merely a smile born of realization

And the joy from whispers that reveal only the truth I look back but now the shadows seem longer less inviting

 

The open door just another invitation to dare to dream



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