Pontiac

the lonely procession

 

through this echoing, echoing cathedral,

in these sunlit shadows of time,

upon these stones, these most holy of stones,

I hear the voice of God, sublime.

 

past rows and rows of stark emptiness,

midst the silence of prayers unsaid,

beneath the towers that make men cower,

Ithis march, this path, I tread.

 

right-left, right-left, in cadenced pace,

in the order of ancient rite,

six men, their duty now fulfill,

on my journey to final light.

 

 

 

The End

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