Sonnet - On the Artist Returning To the Church

As I passed through the doors I pledged That I would try a different perspective. I would not hold my usual contempt for these demeaning walls—be less derisive in my view of this shameless conviction. In spite of my own constitutions I linger on thoughts of a forfeited salvation. I know beauty must linger in this institution. These halls I never wanted to know again. Memories of feeling lost and distant— That fill me with such shame and dread— At sin I have become quite proficient. Yet, I wish I could hold the same regard For these stained glass halls as I do for art.