Robes

In through the stained glass windows, the days pass silent,
the order’s obeyed as laid down in the law.

Behind these stone walls, I see kingdoms rise and together they fall,
I watch and it becomes all.

There’s a difference,
this monastery,
full I’d say of not so merry men,
a thieves den of ineffability fools me.

I look again through the codpiece of Christopher Wren etched in the stain glass,
I pass on looking more maybe the monks who drier than sin would welcome me in,
but the order is sealed,
a healing may be for some, not for me,
the order is clear,
all are welcomed but not in here.

The bells ring
the monks sing
The day brings
no new
beginning.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.